


As Constant as a Star

by Atsadi



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: (from a villain), Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Animal Transformation, Big Bang Challenge, Blood Magic, Body Horror, Captain America/Iron Man Big Bang 2016, Community: cap_ironman, F/M, Gore, Homophobic Language, Hurt Tony, Internalized Homophobia, Knight Steve, M/M, Magic, Minor Character Death, Multi, Playing fast and loose with medieval settings, Polyfidelity, Prince Tony - Freeform, Princes & Princesses, Princess Natasha
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-20
Updated: 2016-11-20
Packaged: 2018-08-31 20:52:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 62,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8593279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Atsadi/pseuds/Atsadi
Summary: The Swan Princess AU 
As young children, Prince Anthony and Princess Natasha of neighboring Midgardian kingdoms are betrothed, and spend their summers together every year until they are wed. Tony adores his headstrong friend Nat: it’s her scowly little companion Steve he’s not thrilled about at first. But soon Steve goes from being a thorn in Tony’s side to being his dearest friend – and much, much more than that. Despite Steve feeling the same way about Tony, the pair still dance around each other for years as Steve struggles to accept his feelings for another man: especially one already betrothed to another. Not to mention that Tony is a prince, and Steve is nothing but a squire.But before they can make peace, Tony is kidnapped and dragged into the beginnings of another conflict in the nearby magical kingdom of Asgard – he really hates magic. With his potential usefulness diminishing by the day, Tony races to escape even as Steve, Natasha, and their friends race to find him and bring him home.And—just to make matters worse—Tony has been trapped by a powerful spell and turned into a swan, of all creatures. He really, really hates magic.





	

**Author's Note:**

> First ever Big Bang as an author... _that'll_ test your scheduling skills in the first semester of university. This was a joy to write, haven't written anything this fun in a long time (certainly not for this fandom!). And hey – my first unambigiously Stony fic!
> 
> An enormous amount of this work owes gratitude to my dear beta, [Bee](http://sluttysuperheroes.tumblr.com/), because this fic was pretty flabby before she got a hold of it and helped me savagely work it into shape. Thank you, my dear!~
> 
> I got to work with two artists for this fic, [Kakushimiko](http://kakushimiko.tumblr.com) & [fightfirewithlimes](http://fightfirewithlimes.tumblr.com), both of whom did multiple amazing pieces which I'm so proud to have attached to my story! The art is embedded in the fic below and can also be found in links in the end notes (because spoilers).
> 
> Another minor warning in the end notes because it's kind of spoilery.

 

Once upon a time, there was a great and wealthy kingdom in the land of Midgard.

This was a mighty realm with powerful warriors, and for hundreds of years it had never been invaded by a foe. Many had once sought its power and wealth for themselves; all had failed. Many more still had tried to trade with this prosperous land, but they were set in their ways, and did not care to build relations with the lands outside their borders.

But then a new invasion came from the west – a plague that swept through the kingdom, killing without a care from the lowliest serf to the highest nobleman. By the time the plague had run its course, the population had been dealt devastating losses. The king and queen themselves were dead, along with five of their small children.

The sole survivor of the royal family was the youngest daughter, the infant princess Natasha.

Since the princess was yet far too young to rule, a regent was set on the throne in her place, a man eminently loyal to the Crown and to his young charge. Lord Nicholas Fury, the late king’s most trusted cabinet adviser, took control of the kingdom during a turbulent and frightening time. Though their crops were plentiful, their rivers and pastures replete, and their towns magnificently built, the land had suffered a heavy loss of the citizens needed to work and fill them.

So Lord Fury began to look outside of their kingdom for aid.

Their closest neighbor across the central Sea of Midgard, the small kingdom of Menahahte, proved to be their greatest ally in the years following the plague; sending workers for shares of the produce and establishing promises of future trade. King Howard of Menahahte was known for his brilliance – but was often used as a cautionary tale against a dependence on machinery and invention. The pollution from his production mills and other such advancements had cost his kingdom much of its arable land, but Lord Fury was able to trade his plentiful food for King Howard’s expertise, elaborate gifts, and designs.

After four years of a distant alliance, it was agreed that King Howard would travel to meet with Lord Fury upon Princess Natasha’s fifth birthday. And so, after a journey of several days across the turbulent sea, the foreign king arrived proudly along with his advisers, his clever wife, Maria di Carbonelli, and his young son, Anthony.

Until the princess was old enough to take her rightful place, the throne would remain empty upon its dais. So when the foreign royals entered the great hall of the castle, Lord Fury stood on the middle step of the dais, with the little princess standing at attention on the level above him. The adults made a production of the entire event, through the introductions and the speeches and all the political fanfare. Throughout it all, the young prince and princess examined each other in curious silence. And though Prince Anthony could not resist looking about him at this new place from time to time, Princess Natasha did not take her eyes off the older boy.

As the visiting royals were about to be escorted to their guest rooms, the princess surprised everyone but her guardian, Lord Fury, and her nursemaid and personal guard, Lady Hill—who were already well aware of her independent streak—by stepping carefully down the tall steps of the dais and approaching Prince Anthony. The prince appeared cowed as she stalked towards him, though he was almost twice her age and very nearly twice her height. He refrained from hiding behind his mother’s voluminous skirts, despite twitching helplessly in her direction.

Princess Natasha came to a halt before the prince and peered up at him studiously, assessing.

The king and queen and all gathered looked on in curious surprise, waiting to see what the young princess would do. After a long moment, ignoring Prince Anthony’s squirming, Princess Natasha held out a tiny hand for him to take.

“I am Nat,” she announced in a quiet voice just for him; high with youth but rich with authority.

He swallowed nervously and took her hand upon his own, and they both ignored his uncertainty. The prince brought her knuckles to his lips and kissed them obediently, then smiled down at her when he caught her softening expression.

“I’m Tony,” he told her, and her faint smile grew wider.

“Pleased to meet you, Prince Tony,” she said, dipping her head.

“Pleased to meet you, Princess Nat,” he replied, letting his mouth quirk in a grin.

“Lord Fury,” the little princess said without turning around and without taking her hand back from the prince. “I will show Tony to his room.”

“Very well, Your Highness,” Fury agreed, sounding amused and thoughtful.

Natasha somehow cajoled Tony into tucking her hand beneath his arm, so that he could escort her from the room like the adults did. The entire assembly watched them go with varying expressions of surprise and pleasure on their faces. It was, objectively, an adorable sight – the tiny red-headed princess in a glittering white and gold dress, marshaling the older boy to follow her commands. It took quite a while for her short legs to traverse the hall, with Tony having to shorten his stride to pace her. The guards at the end of the hall dutifully opened the doors to let the children leave, followed by an amused Lady Hill.

Once they were gone, Queen Maria turned to look speculatively at Lord Fury, who was looking back at her and her husband with the same sort of gleam in his one remaining eye.

“You wished to discuss the future relations between our kingdoms?” Queen Maria asked, a laugh tugging at the edges of her voice.

“Indeed,” Lord Fury agreed.

As King Howard looked bemusedly between them, the queen and regent nodded at each other in acknowledgment that they were of one mind.

 

## ♛

 

The next year, Prince Tony was sent back to spend the summer with Princess Natasha at her beautiful hilltop castle. This arrangement pleased both children immensely, after the wonderful weeks they had spent joined at the hip when they first met. 

The castle staff was less pleased with the new arrangement – at least, when it turned out that the prince had inherited his father’s penchant for innovation and his mother’s innocent doe-eyes. Paired with the princess’s mastery of sneakiness, the duo caused havoc around the castle and surrounding township for months on end. On occasion, Lord Fury attempted to shame the prince—who was a big boy of nine years who should know better—but somehow his reasoning landed on deaf ears every time.

Still, when the prince had to leave at the end of the summer the whole castle slipped into a period of melancholy, feeling the silence and emptiness in his wake and missing the vibrancy that the other child’s presence brought out in their young princess.

So when Tony arrived at the castle the next summer, he was greeted not only by Lord Fury, Lady Hill, assorted other staff and the princess herself, but also two small boys of about the princess’s age. One had dark hair and light eyes, skin gold from the sun, a cut healing on his cheek, and a pout on his lips that Tony would soon learn was a constant feature. He was a tiny thing, Tony noticed as he walked warily closer, probably Natasha’s age, though he was smaller than her.

But the other boy was even tinier. He was scrawny and pale-skinned, pink-cheeked and tow-headed, and scowling.

Specifically, he was scowling at Tony.

“Welcome, Prince Anthony,” Lord Fury launched into the proper greeting protocol.

Tony chimed in by rote, feeling a little gnawing of anxiety in his belly, and Natasha greeted him as officiously as usual. After their proper welcome, Lord Fury cast a slightly wary look over his shoulder at the two boys standing there – the brunet with his hands on his hips, head cocked attentively, and the blond with scowl still in full force and his twiggy arms folded. The castellan shook his head faintly and simply elected to say his goodbyes, leaving it to the children to make introductions amongst themselves.

Once Lord Fury had retreated out of the courtyard and back into the castle, followed by most of the staff that had come out for Prince Tony’s official welcome, Natasha dropped her princess persona and dove forwards with glee. Tony was relieved to have his friend in his arms once again, since he missed her furiously when he went back to Menahahte. He forgot about the two strange boys for a moment, burying his face in her red-blonde hair and grinning.

“Hi, Nat,” he said warmly. “I missed you.”

She pulled back and smiled at him – a precious thing, since the princess was good-natured but generally more reserved than that. “Welcome back, Tony,” she greeted, patting his cheek affectionately.

A throat was cleared unceremoniously behind her, and she turned to look back at the two boys in exasperation. The blond boy looked like he had a bee in his mouth.

Natasha beckoned them forwards, then stepped back. “Tony, these are my friends. James,”—She gestured to the brunet—“and Steve.” She flapped a hand needlessly at the grimacing blond. “This is Tony.”

The bigger boy—James—gave Tony a very small but polite bow. “Hello, Your Highness.”

Tony returned the bow respectfully. “Hello, James. I have a friend called James too, but I call him Rhodey ‘cause James is his dad’s name too and that’s too many Jameses.”

James gave him a sideways grin. “Then call me Bucky.”

At that, the other boy—Steve—puffed up like an angry little sparrow. He turned his glare briefly on Bucky, who ignored it with what looked like long experience. Tony sensed that he was on thin ice for some reason, but wasn’t feeling too charitable towards the child who looked to have been mentally throwing rocks at him this entire time.

So he turned to Natasha and offered his arm, which she took gladly. “Have you started learning mathematics yet?” he asked her, as they walked up the steps into the keep.

The other boys joined them, but Tony didn’t really care. Bucky seemed alright, but there was definitely something about the other boy—a visible chip on his shoulder—that Tony didn’t like one bit.

 

## ✯

 

“He’s horrible,” Steve insisted, scowling at the ceiling.

“I like him,” Bucky said sleepily from his bed, a few feet away from Steve’s. His voice was muffled, since his face was mashed comfortably into his blanket and pillow.

“He’s rude,” Steve retorted. “And a bully.”

Bucky made a noncommittal noise but didn’t otherwise reply.

Steve continued to fume until he fell asleep, then the next day he awakened, dressed, and went down to breakfast in the servant’s kitchen with Bucky, fuming still. He could not help thinking about the banquet hall upstairs, where Natasha and the famous _Prince Tony_ she wouldn’t say a bad word about were probably eating right that minute.

Prince Tony who had an actual chance with Natasha, whom Natasha thought was wonderful, whom Natasha brought here and ignored Steve to talk to all the stupid day.

Prince Tony with his smug smile and his ballroom dancing and his snide comments.

No, Steve didn’t like him one bit, and not just because Natasha did like him.

Steve and Bucky went through their day amiably enough, and Bucky was deliberately not talking about Tony, Steve knew. They shoveled out the stables and ran through their various other chores as assigned, but as companions to the princess their work days ended promptly at midday. They ate lunch together down by the creek in the woods rather than partaking in the communal meal in the great hall, chomping their way through the delicious bread, crumbly cheese, and fresh fruit one of the cooks had sliced up for them.

After their meal, Bucky tore off his shirt and ran, whooping and hollering, into the creek. The water was far too cold for Steve to get into, and he was a big boy now, so he knew better than to get in anyway and get sick yet again. So he rolled up his too-large breeches even further than usual, up to his knees, and sat on the squat log they’d dragged over months ago, flicking his feet through the glittering water and laughing with Bucky.

Then they heard someone else approaching through the woods—Natasha, her voice low but cheerful—and Steve smiled with joy. But then he heard someone else’s laugh, and he knew who that was.

His mood soured instantly.

After a moment of the sounds of quiet conversation and crunching foliage, Natasha and Prince Tony emerged through the trees.

“Hello, boys,” Natasha greeted.

“Hullo Nat! Hullo Tony!” Bucky called from the water, flinging his sodden hair out of his eyes. Steve gave him a dirty look, but Bucky ignored it.

“Hello, Nat,” Steve said finally. “Prince Tony.”

Tony leaned down to whisper in Natasha’s ear, and she smiled fondly at him.

Steve bristled.

“He’s nice,” Natasha retorted to Tony, who shrugged and looked dubiously at Steve.

“Come in the water!” Bucky shouted, splashing a bit of it at them. “It’s cold!”

Tony took him up on it eagerly, shucking his fancy jacket and shirt and splashing into the water like a dancing fool. Even Natasha removed her stiff kirtle and sat next to Steve in her floaty white chemise, dipping her feet in the water and shivering at the chill.

“Why don’t you like Tony?” she asked him quietly.

As they watched from the bank, Bucky and Tony held a series of contests on who was the better splasher, the better swimmer, the better hand-stander or the better breath-holder. A lot of those Tony won, but probably only because he was three whole years older than Bucky, Steve thought mulishly. It wasn’t really fair; he was cheating.

He shrugged at Natasha and returned to kicking his feet in the water.

“Why?” she asked again, prodding like she wasn’t going to stop until he answered.

Steve shook his head. “I just don’t like him, is all.”

She looked unhappy, and Steve felt a little bit bad. “He’s my friend. Can’t you be friends too?”

With a put-upon sigh, Steve looked at Natasha: at her pretty green eyes and her pretty red curls. She looked sincere. Then he looked back at Bucky, whom Tony had now balanced very precariously on his shoulders as he stomped around in the waist-high water, and Bucky attempted to direct him by tugging on his sopping black hair. Both of them were grinning and laughing, and Steve felt very jealous for a moment.

It would make Natasha happy, and probably Bucky too.

“Fine,” he said despondently. “I’ll try to like him.”

 

## ♛

 

Two months passed quickly, and soon Tony was going to have to return home.

He was just beginning to make progress with Steve, too. Or at least he thought he was. The boy had been in a permanent sulk for at least the first week of Tony’s stay at the castle. When he wasn’t sulking he was angry, and when he wasn’t sulking _or_ angry he was ignoring Tony completely. Part of the reason Tony loved coming to Natasha’s home was that she seemed to really like him as much as he really liked her, and he didn’t care that she was only practically a baby. She was smart and funny and mean, just like him, and she made him very happy. Nobody back home was nice to him like Natasha was nice, nobody talked to him like she did, or played with him, or argued with him.

But it was all tainted a bit by how much her friend obviously didn’t like him at all.

Bucky wasn’t so bad – Natasha spent a lot of time with Tony, but they only got to see each other once a year, so Tony thought that was only fair. But Natasha said that when Tony was gone, she spent almost all her time with Bucky and Steve. Tony figured out after one pointed conversation with Lord Fury that they had brought the two boys to the castle specifically to keep Natasha company when Tony wasn’t there, because he’d made her so happy the first time they met.

He was glad that Natasha had friends, but he didn’t like at all that they were supposed to replace him. What if she didn’t need him anymore?

But they obviously made her happy, even the quiet, glaring Steve, who was supposed to be six years old but looked far younger and was really, _really_ skinny. Tony didn’t know you could move if you were that skinny. Where were his muscles?

The four of them spent a lot of days down by the river, or in the fields, or in the drawing room. Natasha was learning the harpsichord but wasn’t yet very good at it, so Tony sat and played for them sometimes before the younger children had to go to bed. Natasha and Bucky gave him requests, and he didn’t know a lot of them at first – but after a few days they started to bring him the sheet music, and when he played their songs they knew all the words and sang along.

They even danced a few times, fast and happy and spinning. Natasha was a lovely dancer and Bucky… was very exuberant.

It was nighttime, the drawing room lit only with sconces and the great big fireplace beside them, glowing amber and warm and cozy, and the pair of them danced wildly over the floorboards. Their hair and clothes were flashing in the firelight, and their mouths were smiling with joy as they clapped and spun about each other’s elbows. They looked like carefree townspeople. Bucky and Steve really were townspeople, Tony realized then, and had to have taught Natasha how to dance like that.

Steve didn’t dance. And he didn’t ask Tony to play any songs. That night, when Natasha and Bucky had collapsed on the rug, flushed and grinning and with their hair wild from their twirling, Tony peered over the top of the harpsichord at Steve, who was drawing in his bound sketchbook.

“Do you have a song?” he said, putting on a smile.

Steve looked up at him in brief surprise, then impatience. “No.”

“Are you certain?” Tony pushed, wanting to make an effort with Steve, so maybe they could be friends like he and Bucky were beginning to be friends. “Don’t you know any?”

Steve glared. “I know songs.”

“Good!” Tony beamed. “What about a lullaby? Does your mother sing you lullabies?”

Every sweet spark that may have been in Steve’s body disappeared in that moment. He snapped his sketchbook shut and stood up stiffly. “My ma is dead,” he informed Tony. “You would know if you wasn’t such a selfish jerk.”

Steve stomped promptly out of the room. Bucky looked apologetically at Tony, then barreled out of the drawing room after his friend.

Tony shrunk into himself a little, ashamed. Steve was right; he should have known. He should have asked. Why else would Steve be living at the castle? Bucky was probably an orphan too. Like Natasha. Tony was so stupid – he should have known that. He forgot sometimes that not everybody had a mother like him, and now he’d upset Steve.

Natasha set her hand on his arm, and he noticed that his own hands were sitting frozen on the silky harpsichord keys. “He's still sad,” Natasha told him. “It wasn’t very long ago.”

He just shook his head. Of course Steve was sad about it. Tony didn’t know what he would do if _his_ mama died.

“She got sick,” Natasha continued, stroking a hand along one of the shining cream keys. “He didn’t have a pa, not then. Bucky’s ma died before he knew her, and his pa got the plague, his sisters, too. They needed friends, like I did.”

Tony leaned over to kiss her forehead. “I’ll say sorry tomorrow.”

The next day, Steve was nowhere to be found. Bucky was lurking around, but he avoided Tony studiously and only spoke to Natasha to argue with her about Steve. And the day after that, Tony had to leave to get on the ship that took him home. He waved to Natasha from the carriage that took him to the docks, until the coachman noticed him hanging out of the door and started yelling at him. He drew back inside morosely.

Bucky was with Natasha as they waved. Natasha didn’t really need Tony, not like he needed her. She probably wouldn’t even miss him, not like he would miss her. He was a big boy, so he only cried a little on the way, but by the time he got out of the carriage his face was dry and he held his head up proudly.

Time to start acting like a prince. He didn’t need Natasha. He didn’t need Bucky.

He didn’t need anyone.

 

## ♛

 

The next summer, Tony convinced everyone that he was very ill – by creating a special vest that went under his clothes and was filled with hot water, so he was always overheated, flushed and sweating. He lazed in bed almost the entire summer, reading and studying and pretending to take his medicine, telling himself that he did not miss Natasha at all. He made friends with the chamberlain’s daughter, who was a redhead like Natasha but very little like her in any other way. He really liked her nonetheless, and by the end of the summer they were fast friends. Rhodey liked her too, which was a feat in and of itself.

Tony tried to get out of visiting the next summer too, but his parents were adamant.

He knew that they wanted him to marry Natasha one day when they were grown up, and as much as he didn’t hate the idea, he knew Natasha would not want him – and even if she didn’t mind him, it hardly mattered what either of them thought, in the end, because they would not really have a say in who they married anyway.

Still, he would rather Natasha than any of the noble girls here, who laughed at him and never knew what he was talking about and just _were not Natasha_.

 

## ✯

 

The summer Tony did not visit, Steve discovered Peggy Carter, and forgot all about his love for Natasha.

Miss Carter was the daughter of the castle steward, but everyone knew she had more to do with the running of the castle than anyone else. She was very smart, and very beautiful, and Steve was hopelessly in love from the first time he laid eyes on her. She was a little older than him, but he did not care about that. He was in love, and a trifle like the twelve year age difference was not going to keep him from her side.

So since Bucky had been asked to become a page for Sir Alexander, Steve was allowed to go work with Miss Carter and her father to help run the castle.

It was the greatest summer ever.

 

## ♛

 

Summer came around again, and Tony had learned his lesson last time.

Natasha was there as usual when his carriage drew near, waiting for him just inside the castle wall. She broke into a smile when she saw him get out of the carriage, and Tony had just enough time to notice that Lord Fury was nowhere to be seen before she struck his front and wrapped her arms tightly around him.

“Tony,” she said, sounding torn between scolding him and wanting to weep into his mantle. “I missed you, why did you not come?”

He put a hand against the heavy weight of her hair, pressing his face into the vibrant copper curls and almost wondering himself why he had tried to give this up. “I was ill, I'm sure they told you.”

“I knew it wasn’t true,” she informed him, turning her head so that her ear was pressed firmly over his heart. “Why did you lie? Why did you not want to see me?”

He grimaced, wishing distantly she wasn’t so clever. “It doesn't matter now. I missed you, and I will never do that again. I shall be here every summer, I promise you.”

She listened to his heartbeat for a little while, but seemed satisfied and drew back to look at him. She touched a finger teasingly to the dark, fine hairs over his lip. “You're almost a man.”

He huffed at her. “I am a man! Only two more years until everyone else agrees!”

She smiled at him – then suddenly seemed to notice something surprising over his shoulder. She pushed him rather abruptly to the side and strode over to the carriage. “I am Princess Natasha,” she announced, demanding a response.

Pepper had elected to remain inside the carriage, since she was still recovering from her days’ worth of seasickness, but Rhodey was standing at attention beside it. He bowed low over Natasha’s hand while introducing himself like the perfect gentleman he was. “I'm James Rhodes, Your Highness, Tony’s nursemaid.”

Tony made an inarticulate noise of protest while Pepper giggled and leaned out of the carriage window, and Natasha perked up like a fox catching the scent of a helpless little bunny. She turned slowly to look at Tony, and he was very much aware of who was the bunny in this scenario.

“It's a pleasure to meet you, Mister Rhodes – may I call you Rhodey, or is that just Tony’s name?”

“Just for friends, Your Highness. You're welcome to call me Rhodey,” he returned with a charming smile.

Pepper scoffed. “Forgive him, Your Highness, he becomes overly flirtatious around powerful women.”

“Powerful red-headed women,” Tony corrected.

“You must be Lady Pepper,” Natasha said, ignoring Tony entirely. “Tony speaks as if you were an angel descended to our mortal realm.”

Tony turned raspberry red while Pepper and Rhodey laughed gleefully.

“He's a clever boy, my Tony,” Pepper agreed.

She and Natasha stared at each other for a few moments before nodding mutually: a chamberlain’s daughter and an heir to the throne, and Tony was very concerned about the pair of them reaching any sort of truce. 

Though Rhodey considered himself too old to play rambunctiously with the other children, he _supervised_ gleefully as they wrought more havoc that summer. As delicate and prim as Pepper appeared, it turned out (to Natasha’s delight) that she was more than willing to throw her skirts aside when necessary and go wading in the pond, or accompany Natasha on pony rides around the neighboring fields. Tony happily left them to it, since with Rhodey there he was not relegated into the company of Steve-and-Bucky.

And then there was the new variable of Sharon Carter, granddaughter of Natasha’s castle steward. She seemed to be willing to play with the others for one reason and one reason alone – Steve fawned over her at every available opportunity. Who would not want to be treated so royally? Tony could not tell if she actually liked Steve as much as he clearly liked her, but he figured it was not his place to ask or worry. Tony saw very little of Steve that summer, as a result, and wondered if Steve was not deliberately ignoring him once again.

That suited his purposes just fine, so he allowed it to pass despite Natasha and Pepper’s increasingly disapproving looks towards them both, over the months of their visit.

To Tony’s surprise, he found that more and more as the summer went on, Bucky tended to join him in leaving Steve and Sharon to it; clearly a better person than either Steve or Tony and willing to let bygones be bygones. So as Natasha and Pepper sauntered off to cause some sort of subtle and no-doubt terrible mischief elsewhere, Tony, Rhodey, and their new addition of Bucky kept themselves amused around the castle. Bucky had daily duties as a page, but ended up spending most of his free time with the other two boys in Steve’s notable absence.

They built a fort of branches and twigs in the woods (which the girls ruthlessly demolished the next day despite the boys’ best counterattacks, through a calculated and worryingly impressive military effort), they helped out in the kitchens for the joy of the treats the cooks lavished on them, they played in the stables and with the dogs, and they discovered every conceivable hiding place within the castle walls – including a certain nook in the battlements which hid Rhodey so well that he was very cold and _very_ cross when Bucky and Tony finally found him. They had to appease him with a delicious, freshly roasted apple they’d finagled from the head cook.

Tony, Pepper, and Rhodey returned home at the end of the summer in high spirits.

A few weeks later, King Howard announced that Tony was never again to be accompanied on his visits to Natasha’s kingdom, as Lord Fury had expressed concern that the presence of the other two children had seriously undermined the purpose of the visit, which was explicitly for Tony and Natasha to bond. Tony argued vehemently that Natasha getting along with his friends could only be considered a good thing, and that next summer the novelty would have worn off – but both Howard and Fury were immovable.

As the autumn and the winter passed and blossomed into a beautiful spring, Tony could feel his mood souring further and further with resentment, and it was all he could do not to dig his heels in and refuse to go back, for Natasha’s sake.

 

## ✯

 

Steve was down in the kitchens, scrubbing pots.

Technically, he did not need to be either down in the kitchens nor working at all this morning, since today was the day Prince Tony was arriving. Bucky and Natasha had all but flown out the door when the guards spotted the prince’s carriage in the distance, and the need to scrub pots was the only thing Steve could think of as an excuse not to join them.

Judging by the looks he had been given they were both aware of his lie, which was why he was down here, actually scrubbing pots, to prove that he was not a liar.

Natasha’s twelfth birthday had come and gone last year, which meant she was of legal marrying age in their kingdom. Tony had been of age for over a year, but even so Lord Fury had agreed with King Howard that it was not the right time for a royal wedding between their kingdoms, considering the worrisome news coming out of Asgard, on the broad side of the Midgardian Sea, what felt like every day in the four years since Tony’s friends had visited.

But as of this summer, Prince Tony and Natasha were to be officially betrothed.

Steve dug his scrawny arm deeper into the great big pot and scrubbed more viciously. He hated Prince Tony more with every passing year, and it only made it worse that Bucky seemed to actually like the other boy now. If it were anyone other than Bucky, Steve would have called them a traitor and never spoken to them again.

Even over the din of the kitchens there was an audible clattering noise from outside, and a moment later Sam came careening into the room. He ducked and wove expertly around the hustle and bustle, clearly searching for Steve amongst the frenzy preceding the midday meal. Steve hunched a little bit in his corner, but Sam spotted him anyway. Sam was a year younger than Steve, but a little tiny bit taller, which was just not fair.

“Steve!” Sam called over the din. “Prince Tony has arrived! Nat wants you to come up!”

“I'm busy,” Steve said frostily, digging back into the pristine pot for emphasis.

Sam rolled his eyes. “Of course you are. And I don't think she was asking.”

They stared each other down, but Steve supposed he at least owed it to Bucky to help keep Tony as far away from Natasha as they could, so he relented cheerlessly.

They were directed by the guards up to the guest wing, where Tony was being set up in what had unofficially become his chambers in Natasha’s ancestral castle. Natasha was there already, sitting cross-legged on the bed, while Tony was setting up some sort of ridiculous apparatus of metal rods and what were probably priceless glass containers on the desk in the corner. Bucky was cheerfully following Natasha’s direction, unpacking Tony’s clothing and stashing it all around the room – but emphatically _not_ where it was actually meant to go. Tony had not yet seemed to have noticed this.

“Found him!” Sam announced, giving Natasha a little bow, then waiting for Tony to acknowledge him to give him a bow too.

After a moment of waiting, Bucky threw a shoe at Tony, which hit him on the backside and made him jolt around in surprise. He noticed Sam and Steve almost immediately, and politely nodded his head at Sam’s bow, then at Steve (who gave the tiniest motion that could possibly, generously be called a bow). Natasha scowled at him, and even Sam gave him a bit of an arch look.

“Hello, Steve,” Tony said tightly. Then, “Hello, Sam,” he beamed in Sam’s direction, which made Steve scowl even more.

Tony was not allowed to have Sam as well as Bucky, he just was not.

“Come on, Sam,” Steve muttered. “We should go check on your granma.”

Sam gave him a look that said very clearly he did not believe Steve’s ridiculous excuse, but he agreed to leave after saying appropriate goodbyes to the assembled royals.

That night at the afternoon meal, Natasha descended upon Steve. Tony was the only one of the group absent, having been resting from his trip most of the afternoon – they had left him a note telling him where supper was to be found if he woke up before sunrise. Natasha and Bucky sat side by side, as per usual, while Steve and Sam sat across the small table from them in the private dining room within Natasha’s chambers.

Their conversation had been civil until, as usual, Tony ruined it all.

“Why are you being this way?” Natasha hissed, when Steve made a face at the mention of her plans with Tony tomorrow. “What has Tony done to you?”

Bucky and Sam remained wisely silent, slurping and picking unobtrusively at their meals.

Steve was going to fall back on his original idea, which was that Tony was an arrogant, snide jerk who did not care about other people’s feelings… but he was uncomfortably aware that that particular line of reasoning was feeling its six years of use. And that, furthermore, Tony had done quite a lot to redeem that impression in all those years.

The truth was, Steve really had no excuse, and he did not understand it himself. So he seized upon the only other reasoning he had at hand. “You shouldn’t marry him,” he groused, poking mulishly at his pheasant broth.

Natasha stared at him. “What is wrong with him?”

Nothing. There was nothing wrong with Tony. “You're supposed to… you… you know—you're supposed to…”

She clanked her spoon against her bowl to jerk him out of the verbal spiral.

“Bucky,” he scowled, feeling foolish. “You're supposed to marry Bucky.”

Everyone at the table stayed very still and very silent for a moment. Bucky, for his part, was turning a fetching shade of dusky pink on the apples of his cheeks, and even Natasha looked a little flushed. Sam looked more amused than anything else, clearly waiting to see how this played out.

“I can't marry James,” Natasha said finally, looking over at the boy in question. She had always insisted on using Bucky’s proper name, claiming that his nickname was ridiculous – of course, in doing so she had made ‘James’ her own personal endearment, but nobody ever dared to point this out. “I am a princess. He is a…”

“A nothing,” Bucky finished for her, quietly.

“A knight, someday,” Natasha corrected, gingerly reaching over to grasp Bucky’s hand where it was fisted on the tabletop. She looked at him sadly for a moment while he was too upset to look anywhere other than his bowl, then she sighed and turned to look over at Steve. “Tony is a prince, and he's kind, and intelligent, and it's a very good match. He loves me, and I love him, and it's not the same, but it's better than what most royals get. We both know that. You should be happy for us.”

“Happy?” Steve snapped, slamming down his spoon.

“Steve,” Sam warned.

“How can I be happy that you have to marry that—that—” His words abandoned him, and he just made an infuriated gesture with his arms. “You should be upset! You should demand that you be allowed to marry Bucky! You're going to be the queen! You—”

“ _Steve_ ,” Sam insisted.

“—deserve so much _better_ ,” Steve finished with a snap.

“Well, you're not wrong,” came a voice from Steve’s left, where his hearing was still a little spotty after the small accident in the stables a few years back.

Steve turned slowly to look at Tony, who was standing in the doorway in his nightgown and heavy red robe. He had clearly just awoken: his hair a fright and his eyes still a little bleary. Sam was already looking in his direction, somewhat aghast, and Natasha and Bucky had to turn slightly over their shoulders to see him.

Nobody said anything for a few seconds. Something curled in Steve’s stomach; a feeling like he had forgotten something very important.

“Tony,” Natasha breathed, pushing her chair back and standing up.

“I just came for some bread,” Tony said quickly, holding up the note they’d left telling him where to go. “And I will get out of your way.”

“Tony,” Natasha said in a rather warning tone. “Please sit with us.”

“No, thank you,” Tony demurred, glancing over at Steve with an unusually cold look on his face.

Steve bristled. “Too good to share a meal with us commoners, Your Highness?” he asked bitterly, feeling filled suddenly with the need to defend Bucky against the high and mighty _prince_.

Tony’s face flashed with anger, which Steve felt was a significant improvement over the snide arrogance, right up until Tony snapped: “If by ‘commoners’ you mean yourself, Rogers. Bucky’s going to be a knight and even baby Sam’s training at the mews. If you're looking for the only other person here who doesn't deserve Nat you have to look no further than your own ugly nose.”

Steve leapt out of the chair like it had been kicked out from under him, and Sam instantly lunged over his seat and wrapped his entire body around Steve’s back, trying to keep him from pouncing on Tony. Sam was bigger and much less frail, so his weight would have been enough even if Bucky had not joined in, darting around the table to press his hands on Steve’s shoulders and yell at him to calm down.

Distantly, Steve could hear the melodious sound of Natasha shouting at Tony, then some movement around the table, and then Tony was gone, and he slumped back down.

“I hate him,” he snarled, not caring that his ma would have been ashamed to hear such words leave his lips, no matter how well-deserved.

“You are a fool,” Natasha snapped and – _wait, what?_

He blinked at her.

She stalked over and poked one porcelain finger into the middle of his chest, quite painfully. “You should be ashamed of yourself.”

How was this _his fault_? “He's the one who said—”

“Stop, Steve,” Natasha said coolly, holding up a hand. “That's my betrothed you're talking about.”

His entire body went cold, then hot again in a great wave. He felt his face flush. “You're taking his side?”

“You're the only one picking sides,” she told him perfunctorily. “I think you should go, now.”

They went more or less obligingly, Steve and Sam, back to the room they shared in the set of chambers Steve and Bucky had lived in since they were brought to the castle. Steve was reeling with emotions, but he still knew better than to cross Natasha when she was that mad. Bucky joined them a little while later, but did not say anything. He just put on his bedclothes and retreated into his own room, closing the door quietly. Sam was quiet as well, leaving Steve to stew on it all evening.

He worked himself up further and further as the dark hours went on, until it was a little before sunrise and sleep had abandoned him all night, and he could not stand it any longer. He felt fury radiating through his bones, pulsing in his chest, and he finally gave in and swung out of bed.

The castle was his home and he knew it as well as anyone, so it was simple to slip out of his chambers in his stocking feet, down the hall and up one of the servants’ spiral staircases. The guards’ routines were equally as familiar to him, so he avoided them with ease and finally made his way un-accosted to the exact door he wanted. Any extra noise he made was swallowed by the sounds of the warm summer storm pouring rain outside, wailing against the stone walls and glass windows of the keep. The door he wanted opened easily under his hand in the split second gap between the guard’s patrol of this corridor and the next, and Steve was inside in another heartbeat.

He looked around, feeling the anger still bubbling within him, and searching for a target. He considered perhaps ripping holes in Tony’s clothes, but that was a fixable inconvenience and, besides, spoiled Prince Tony did not care much for his breathtakingly expensive wardrobe. He had brought no slimy nor sticky substances to put in Tony’s shoes, nor any bugs or other such creatures to leave around and frighten him.

His eyes caught on the desk by the window, which was covered in the glass and metal things Tony had been setting up earlier. Steve slunk over to the desk, eyeing the… things on it. He recognized none of it, but he could tell it was all worth a small fortune. He briefly considered just stealing something – but he did not wish to get whipped for thievery if it was found, and he could just hear his ma scolding him for even _thinking_ about damaging anything worth so much money.

But there at the side of the desk was a notebook. Steve flicked it open and recognized haphazard columns of numbers, though they did not look like records or an invoice or anything numbers were actually useful for. He looked a little more closely and noted that it was written in ink. Directly over the notebook was a window pane, through which he could see the rain sheeting against the glass.

The storm was a summer spell, and would not last much longer. After a brief moment of consideration, he leaned over the desk and grabbed the window latch, depressing it and letting the window swing outward. The sound of the rain flew in along with the fat raindrops, and Steve allowed himself a moment to ensure the droplets were hitting the open notebook before turning and scampering from the room like a rabbit from a foxhole.

Glee and a sort of vindictive thrill carried him back to his room. But as he lay in bed he found that sleep still would not find him. Something sick dragged at his belly, and a dawning sense of horror started to rise in him as the sun peeked over the horizon. He said nothing to Sam when they rose a little while later, nor to Bucky, but insisted that he accompany Sam to the mews that morning after their breakfast. Sam—who knew that Steve pretty much hated birds, with their sharp little feet and loud squawking—was duly suspicious, as Steve usually found any excuse not to be anywhere near them, but did not refuse the offer of assistance.

It was at the midday meal that Steve finally saw Tony. Bucky was eating with Sir Alexander on the fields, as usual, and Sam had elected to stay with the falconer since he had brought himself a packed meal. Steve considered not attending the grand dinner, but ultimately decided that he would not allow Prince Tony to turn him into a coward. As he took his customary seat at the second trestle table, he saw Natasha glaring at him from the first table, and felt a pulse of anger at Tony for tattling. Tony, conversely, did not look at Steve once for the entire meal. After the dinner, Steve grabbed his satchel from the floor at his feet and made a break for the woods, where he planned to hide in the trees with his sketchbook until further notice.

But, somehow, Natasha was waiting for him.

“Why are you being this way?” she spat at him, stalking near and glaring with all the force of her royal pedigree.

Well, Steve had never put much stock in royalty, and though he retained a healthy fear of Natasha for just being Natasha, there was no chance of him backing down. “He's a horrid, spoiled jerk, and I don't understand why you continue defending him,” Steve retorted, drawing himself up to his full height, just an inch or so shorter than her.

She stared at him, then shook her head. “I thought you hated bullies.”

He glared. “I do! That's why—”

“I was not talking about Tony,” she interrupted, giving him a cold look. “Make this right. Don't talk to me until you're willing to behave like a reasonable person.”

He had almost summoned a snippy reply through the fog of shock, but she simply shook her head and brushed right past him. He watched her stalk back to the castle without once looking back at him, scowling at her retreating form and muttering against both her and Tony. And Bucky. And Sam.

He hated being the only one with no actual use around the castle.

Eventually, he returned his sketchbook to the satchel over his shoulder and made the short uphill trek back to the castle in Natasha’s footsteps. After depositing the satchel in his room, he traipsed reluctantly back through the halls until he was outside the door to Tony’s chambers again. He knocked morosely, hoping that Tony was somewhere else…

“Enter,” came the muffled command from inside.

 

 

Steve sighed and pushed the door open. Tony was over by the lit fireplace, pinning up sodden pieces of paper on a string stretched in front of it. When Tony saw who it was at the door, Steve prepared himself for yelling, for things being thrown, for anger of any kind – but instead, Tony hunched in on himself and gave his back to Steve.

What?

“What do you want?” the prince asked tonelessly, ripping another damp sheet from the notebook and fetching another peg from the basket at his feet.

“I—” All Steve’s words suddenly abandoned him.

This was not like Tony. This was not like Tony at all. Tony did not choose silence, did not turn his back. Tony fought, and scrapped, and said hurtful things like his voice was as sharp and cutting as a cheese wire. He had fire in his brown eyes and they glowed gold and his cheeks flushed and he plotted revenge and he stayed cool and… he did not just…

“I—” Steve repeated foolishly. There was no point in pretending that he did not know what had happened to the notebook. Tony and Natasha clearly already knew who was responsible, and Steve was no liar.

Natasha had called him a bully.

“I'm sorry,” he muttered, the words sticking in his teeth.

Tony paused, and Steve hoped desperately that Tony would not make him repeat himself. The force of the hope was so overwhelming, he felt a little lightheaded with it.

“Do you mean that?” Tony said instead, turning slightly with his arms loose at his sides.

He was wearing an embroidered red shirt over plain brown breeches, a strangely common item of clothing for a prince. The sleeves of the shirt were rolled up to expose his forearms, and it was open to the chest as though he had gotten bored half-way through buttoning it. He was tall, much taller than Steve, and beginning to fill out with muscle at the age of sixteen. His hair was still short in a boyish style, but long enough in places that Steve could tell it would curl if allowed.

Tony was very handsome, and Steve found himself missing his normal fire and wild spirit.

Steve swallowed. “Yes, I mean it.”

Tony stared him down, but Steve found himself looking anywhere other than at him, embarrassed and a little afraid of his own thoughts. He spoke again after a moment of silence. “Was it…” He shook himself off a little. “Did you lose anything…”

“Important?” Tony finished wryly. “My father certainly would not think so.”

Steve frowned up at the evasion. “Do you think so?”

Tony stared at him, as if that were the first time someone had asked him to challenge one of his father’s opinions. It may well have been. There was another long silence before some energy suffused back into Tony’s body, like he was taking it directly from the flames at his back. “Notes. Nothing not already in my head.”

Steve twitched in his direction, then reconsidered. Then he decided that Tony could hit him if he really wanted to, but Steve wasn’t going to let anyone scare him away for any reason. He walked over, bent down, and grabbed a handful of pegs from the basket, holding them in his cupped hands so that Tony had easier access. Tony was staring at him again. And Steve gazed back, realizing that he was not really afraid that Tony would hit him, because Tony would never do something like that.

After a moment, Tony leaned over to tear another damp page from the notebook, and Steve handed him a peg. They continued working in industrious silence.

Steve began seeking Tony out during the afternoons, then, after all his chores around the castle were completed and he was scolded away from carrying on his work in the afternoon when, as the Crown’s ward, he should have been on his own time.

Tony was very clever – extremely clever, and he enjoyed talking to Steve about what he was doing as much as Steve enjoyed hearing about it. Tony taught him more advanced mathematics than Peggy ever had, probably more advanced than even Peggy knew. Tony encouraged him to read, and helped him with more difficult words in the adult books Steve stubbornly insisted on choosing, despite the fact that he was, at best, a remedial reader. He was not a page, so reading had never been considered a high priority for his boyhood education. Tony clearly disagreed.

Steve liked that Tony thought he was worth the effort.

They spent hours in the study together, or in the drawing room, and Tony tried valiantly to teach Steve the harpsichord, then the lute, then—in desperation—the little children’s glockenspiel. To their dismay (and eventual hilarity), Steve could hold neither a tune nor a beat even if Tony tapped it out for him, so they settled for Tony playing the harpsichord while Steve appreciated the happy sounds it produced, and sketched or read while listening from across the room.

That summer seemed to go by quicker than previous ones for Steve, possibly because he was busy most of his afternoons now, with Tony.

One day near the end of the summer, Bucky presented Natasha with a wreath of local leaves, flowers, and herbs very beautifully woven together with ribbons and thread, and though neither of them acknowledged it aloud, Bucky and Tony shared a nod of understanding over the gesture. Natasha did not wear the peasant’s betrothal crown at first, but Steve found out from Tony that she had it hanging up to dry in her bedchamber so that it would last long after the leaves were no longer green and fresh, and Steve supposed that was better than wearing it when it was beautiful and dying.

The time came yet again for Tony to leave, and he paid a fond farewell to Natasha, Bucky, and Sam in the castle courtyard.

Steve was reminded of his childish love for the lovely Miss Peggy Carter, and his even more childish hope that Sharon would be as wonderful as her aunt. Natasha had been furious with him when he expressed that view, and forbade him from seeing Sharon unless he just wanted to see her for her own merit. Since he did not know Sharon very well and she was three whole years younger than him, Steve had decided to let their friendship become far more incidental. He did not forget that exciting, scary, happy feeling he had felt around Peggy though, before she married Gabriel.

He recognized that feeling now, fluttering inside him when he was around Tony.

Tony finished saying goodbye to Sam and came to stand in front of Steve. He was standing very close, and Steve only just came up to his shoulder, so he had to crane his head back to look up at the older boy.

They had spent almost the entire summer talking to each other, and now, when Tony was about to leave for almost a whole year, Steve could think of nothing to say. He looked up at Tony with what he hoped was an appropriately helpless and pleading expression. Tony always had words to say. But instead, Tony just reached out and dragged him into a hug. He was warm, and a little bit bony, but not nearly as bony as Steve. (Compared to Steve, of course, Tony was downright plump.)

When Tony drew back, he gave Steve a bit of a watery smile. “I will see you next summer.” Steve swallowed and nodded, and Tony’s smile grew a little less sad. “Your eyelashes are wet.”

Steve refused to rub at his eyes. The others had slipped away at some point, so it was not as though anyone was paying them too much attention, but still.

“Your eyelashes are…” Steve started, not quite sure where he was intending to go. Tony raised an eyebrow at him when the silence went on a little bit too long. Steve gave up: there was nothing insulting to say about Tony’s long, dark lashes. “Pretty.”

Tony blinked at him, then grinned. “I hate it when people tell me that.”

Steve seized upon the escape route and punched Tony’s arm lightly. “You're horrible.”

Tony grinned one last time, then patted Steve on the head as though he were a little child, and turned to get into his carriage. Steve bristled a little. He was not a child, and Tony was not allowed to treat him as such.

“It's still true!” Steve hollered after the retreating carriage.

“Shut up, Steve!” came the faint reply over the cacophony of hooves and carriage wheels on the stone road, and Steve smiled to himself.

Next summer was going to be wonderful.

 

## ✯

 

That winter, an all-out war broke out in Asgard between two ancient, ancestral city states and agents of the neighboring realm of Jötunheim, both of which were infamous within the nine realms for wielding the magical arts in warcraft. This made the other realms highly, determinedly resistant to involving themselves in the quarrel, or allying themselves to either side for fear of future reprisal. Rather, they simply let the two kingdoms fight out their concerns between them, and them alone.

Nevertheless, it was decided roundly by all that the summer trip should be canceled.

Steve spent the entire time sulking, according to Natasha. And Bucky. And Sam. And Sharon. And Peggy, when she visited. And once, memorably, Lord Fury.

Sometimes, when he missed him deeply, Steve tried to draw Tony from memory. But every time he tried, he realized how little attention he had paid to Tony while he was there, and he thought that he was such a fool. The next year it was decided yet again that the trip was unsafe, as the war in Asgard reached what all hoped would be its fever pitch and, mercifully, its end.

Tony, of course, insisted upon sailing over regardless. But his ship was attacked, as feared, by an unidentified, possibly-Asgardian patrol vessel, which refused to allow them passage across the neutral waters of the Midgardian Sea. Steve and the others received word of this many weeks after it happened, since the war meant getting messages to and from the neighboring kingdoms was becoming practically impossible. It took a few more weeks still to get word from Menahahte that the prince had returned home safely from what turned out to have been a band of pirates. Steve spent most of those weeks picking fights with anyone and everything he could.

The most memorable fight he lost was with the quintain. Steve was reasonably skilled with a horse but less so with a lance, meaning that Bucky was given cause to seriously regret inviting Steve to join him in his practice session. It was as Steve was arguing with Bucky on the training field about being allowed a sixth try with the quintain (newly bandaged up from the blow he had taken, as the arm of the device had swung around and struck him rather dramatically in the back of the head), that Bucky’s knight—the renowned Sir Alexander Pierce—approached the pair of them.

That shut them both up quite efficiently.

“James,” the knight greeted his youngest squire, who bowed respectfully.

Then Sir Alexander turned to look down at Steve. He was far smaller than the knight, but Steve had finally begun to see some progress as far as his vertical mission was concerned, and for the first time since they were practically infants Steve was of a height with Bucky. Bucky was still easily twice as wide as Steve, but at this point he was willing to take what he could get.

“Sir Alexander,” Steve greeted with respect and a little awe, which made the knight smile kindly.

“You must be the Steven that James speaks of so highly,” Sir Alexander mused, and Steve just nodded, at a bit of a loss. He darted a glance at Bucky, who silently told him that no, he did not understand what was happening either. “James tells me you read, Steven.”

“Yes, Sir Alexander.”

“And that you are trained in mathematics.”

Between Peggy’s lessons and Tony’s, Steve felt confident in nodding again, and saying, “Yes, Sir.”

The knight nodded at the quintain. “I watched you ride. Have you been trained in horsemanship?”

Steve tried not to shrug. “I can ride a horse, Sir, but I have not done it to fight before.”

Sir Alexander nodded, staring down at Steve thoughtfully. “How old are you, Steven?”

“I'm turning fourteen this summer, Sir.”

The knight nodded, then drew himself up to his full height. Bucky and Steve did the same, sensing the change in the atmosphere. “When you are of age, Steven,” Sir Alexander said solemnly. “I would take you as a squire.”

Steve gaped. “But—but Sir—”

“I may choose whichever squires I wish, and as many as I can provide for,” Sir Alexander said, a little snappily, and Steve wisely shut his mouth. Then the older man’s face softened, growing contemplative and satisfied. “I think you will make an excellent knight, one day, Steven. An excellent addition to my garrison.”

Then the man nodded at the boys, and abruptly took his leave.

Steve and Bucky stared after him, then stared at each other.

“Can he do that?” Steve asked, feeling like his brain was no more than a cloud, floating pleasantly inside his head.

Bucky broke into a grin. “He's a lord and a knight! He can do whatever he wants!”

They both immediately started laughing and cheering, sprinting back to the castle to tell Natasha, then cornering Sam at supper to tell him the wonderful news.

Steve found himself desperately wishing Tony was there, so he could tell him as well.

 

## ✯

 

By the following year, the war in Asgard had died down after what everyone hoped was a lasting resolution was reached. The notoriously haughty kingdom did not care to lower itself to communicate with the lesser mortals of the surrounding kingdoms, nor did Jötunheim bother with such pleasantries, but after months passed with no signs of recurring aggression, all the lands of Midgard breathed a great sigh of relief.

Steve, of course, had the more personal joy that it all meant Tony would be visiting again this summer.

Natasha had been in a fine strop for the last few months, after Lord Fury received a missive from King Howard stating that his Grand Advisor, Lord Stane, had expressed deep reservations about the prince and princess’s impending nuptials, and that he would be accompanying the prince on his trip this summer to discuss the details further with Lord Fury. The princess stomped to and fro about the drawing room, her antechamber, the boys’ chambers (to Lady Hill’s exasperation), and most of the rest of the castle, grousing about the delay and expressing a strong desire to be finally married and able to control her own kingdom and affairs.

The three boys generally watched her from a safe distance. Natasha was a lovely girl, but also very, very terrifying, and after a few weeks of it even Bucky had resorted to throwing her handwritten notes as their primary form of communication when she was in one of these moods.

Steve had mixed feeling about the delay – on the one hand, to have Tony and Natasha marry would indeed give her the right to reign in her own kingdom. And though Lord Fury was an admirable regent, Steve would still infinitely prefer Natasha’s hand on the scepter, as it were.

But on the other hand… Steve did not want Tony to marry anyone, even Natasha. He supposed this feeling was irrational, since he was fairly certain he had spent most of his childhood loathing Tony. But when he expressed this feeling to the others, Sam gave him a pitying look, Bucky gave him a thwap on the head and told him not to be an idiot, and Natasha just flew into another rant. He was not, to be honest, entirely sure what to make of all this.

He did know that he was vibrating like a plucked string as Tony’s carriage approached for the first time in years. He had to remind himself that Tony had a chaperon this time, and that they would have to behave themselves in front of this very important member of King Howard’s court. (At least initially. Stane was not, after all, planning to stay for the entire summer.)

An older, balding man Steve assumed to be Lord Stane was the first out of the carriage, followed by Tony himself. And despite the fact that Tony was his crown prince, Lord Stane walked boldly in front of him to greet Lord Fury formally, then Natasha. When he bent to lasciviously kiss Natasha’s knuckles, Steve was certain he was not the only one who shuddered in near-revulsion. That business done with, the man ignored Steve, Bucky, and Sam entirely, and Steve’s quick exchange of looks with the others indicated a similar relief across the board. Lord Fury and Lord Stane soon departed together, which left them all to greet Tony in peace.

Natasha lurched forward immediately to drag him into a hug. “Three years,” she muttered into his shoulder. “Three years since I last saw you.”

“I missed you too, Nat,” Tony said, his hands crumpling her emerald dress as he squeezed her tight.

He had a mustache, Steve noticed suddenly. The dark hair that had been threatening over his lip for several years now had finally made a determined appearance. He did not know what to think about the new mustache, so he decided not to think about it at all for the moment.

Knowing that Steve preferred to go last and decidedly without an audience, both Bucky and Sam jumped forward to greet Tony as well, crowding Natasha out of the way and ignoring her threats (she was grinning, so they were probably safe). Bucky was his usual very undignified self and poked interestedly at Tony’s new mustache, which led Tony to grin and pretend to bite at his finger. Sam clapped Tony warmly on the shoulders and exchanged some quiet words, and before Steve knew it they had all retreated.

He knew they were watching, the nosy lot of them, but he did not much care at that moment. “Tony,” he breathed, then grinned.

He was more handsome than Steve had remembered. Tony was eighteen now, and he had lost all but the final dregs of childhood roundness in his face. His jaw was solid, his chin proud and jutting. His eyes sparkled still as he looked over at Steve, and Steve…

Steve was scrawny, and sickly-pale, and had nothing to his name that did not depend on another’s goodwill.

Tony was a prince, and Steve was nothing, and he suddenly knew how Bucky felt.

Steve was an idiot.

“Steve,” Tony said his name warmly, with no indication of noticing the sharp downward turn Steve’s thoughts had taken.

He had dreamed of seeing this boy—this man—again for years, and he had built it up in his head over and over into something it just… it could just never be. Steve was no fool: he knew through careful interrogation of every other boy he knew in the castle that while his feelings for Peggy and for Natasha were natural (if unreasonable), his feelings for Tony were decidedly… unusual. Even if, by some cosmic miracle, Tony shared his terrible affliction, there was no possibility that they could ever act upon it – there was no possibility for a future together.

Steve was an _idiot_.

“Steve?” Tony had noticed, now, since Steve had all but frozen in place, staring at Tony’s huge, beautiful brown eyes, like Peggy’s, and supposed he had a certain set of preferences that were constant for both women and men, at least, that certainly lent a sort of poetic symmetry to the entire affair, and it may have been that his thoughts were starting to descend into the hysterical…

“Your Highness,” he managed to let out, sounding stiff even to his own ears.

“Steve?” Tony repeated. He inched forward. “Are you ill?”

Steve scowled and took a step back away from him. “I am well, thank you, Prince Tony.”

Tony looked hurt for a moment, and Steve had time in that one moment of Tony’s soft, pained expression to feel years’ worth of regret and horror at himself, and he wished he could take it back.

Then Tony’s face settled into a cool mask, the one he tended to wear around Lord Fury and Lady Hill, and he nodded coolly at Steve. “I'm glad. Excuse me.”

Tony marched over in the direction of the castle, and Natasha gave his back an open-mouthed look before turning to glare at Steve. She then glided over to take Tony’s arm and escort him properly into her home, while Bucky and Sam rushed over to Steve and demanded to know what had happened.

Steve could only reply that he did not know.

Weeks passed, and Steve managed successfully to avoid Tony wherever possible. Lord Stane had skulked around the castle for a long, awkward week, but he had eventually departed. In his absence, Sam had taken to reporting on the prince’s daily whereabouts and activities through his seemingly endless supply of informants in the castle and the town. Unfortunately, Tony’s activities seemed to consist mostly of flirting outrageously with every woman who came within speaking distance of him and then disappearing with some of those women, and Steve tried to convince himself that he did not care what Tony did, nor did he care who he did it with. Sam’s reports began to change from the disbelieving to the dry, then edged towards the plainly disapproving as Tony’s behavior appeared to represent his new norm.

Bucky was convinced this was somehow Steve’s fault, but refused to explain himself, and Natasha refused to hear a single bad word about Tony at all.

“He's confused,” she would calmly insist. “The uncertainty of our marriage is… difficult.”

Steve expressed his own confusion, to which she simply said, “I have Bucky,” and adamantly declined to elaborate further.

A month into the visit, Steve had seen Tony only a handful of times and had not spoken to him at all after the first day – the castle and grounds were easily large enough to facilitate this, and Steve was very careful. It was when Sir Alexander sent one of his pages with a message for Steve to come meet him at his manor outside the town that Steve realized he had not even told Tony that he was to become Sir Alexander’s squire, alongside Bucky.

But surely Tony would not care about that anyway.

And so Steve was officially conferred the duties of a squire, and set about training with the others in earnest. Sir Alexander had three existing squires, including Bucky, all of whom had the significant advantage on Steve of having been raised all—or at least most—of their lives with the expectation that they would become squires one day. Still, Steve had been raised alongside Bucky for the most part, and Bucky was a bit of a determined follower of rules, so Steve had that advantage, at least. In addition, Steve had gained a great deal of height over the previous year, remaining comfortably even with Bucky though his friend was a year older. But he still lacked the muscle mass of the other squires, and _that_ he could not pick up through mere exposure to Bucky.

As far as he was concerned, that only meant that he had to work twice as hard as they did each and every day of their training. This meant that both Bucky and Steve tended to return from training in the fields in quite a sorry state at the end of each day, good for little more than consuming food and lazing around in the drawing room or elsewhere. They were in their normal splays across the drawing room chaises one day, Steve reading about heraldry (in some bemusement at the needless, self-congratulatory complexity), and Bucky simply enjoying listening to Natasha rant at them as she paced in front of the lit fireplace. 

“I should have him exiled,” Natasha hissed, turning abruptly and stalking back the way she had come.

“Beheaded!” Bucky contributed gleefully, from where he was prostrate along the length of a low couch.

Steve glared reprovingly at him from the opposite couch, and waved the book briefly at Natasha. “This says that your arms represent not only you but your entire nation, since you are to be the monarch, so they can go on a shield as usual.”

Natasha flung a hand in his direction. “As I said to Sitwell, yet he's still adamant about a cartouche. A _cartouche_!” she repeated, in a voice of great offense. “As if I were some mere woman.” Both Bucky and Steve gave her sly looks, at which she raised an eyebrow to shut them up. “You should not rile me,” she said threateningly. “When you become knights I may claim the right to select your own arms.”

Bucky pretended to quake in fear, while Steve was genuinely alarmed. “I don't know where you would even start. I have been studying this absurd book for hours and I—”

He came to a choked stop when he saw that Tony was frozen in the doorway opposite him, staring at him in surprise and what appeared to be dismay.

“Tony!” Natasha greeted, striding over to kiss his cheek.

Though he looked as though he very much wanted to leave once that nicety was taken care of, Natasha latched onto Tony’s hand in a clawed way Steve was very familiar with, and dragged him into the room with the rest of them. Bucky called out a friendly greeting, which Tony returned reluctantly. Steve tried to feel vindicated that Tony was turning out to be such a toad now that he had left his childhood years behind him, but instead he felt disappointed and vaguely ill.

“Will you play for us?” Natasha asked Tony, herding him towards the harpsichord without awaiting a response. She shoved him down hard onto the seat. “We have missed your playing.”

Tony visibly perked up as he ran his fingers over the keys of the instrument. “If you insist, Princess,” he said archly, before launching without warning into one of the spinning folk dances Bucky had given him the music for years and years earlier.

Bucky hollered with delight and jumped out of his slump to grab Natasha. He began twirling her joyously around the rug and, despite himself, Steve smiled as he watched them.

Then his gaze fell to Tony and the smile felt suddenly like embers desperate to burst into flame. Tony was beautiful like this: smiling and watching his friends dance wildly around the small room instead of watching what his hands were doing on the keys. The sound of the harpsichord was cheery and bright, and Tony’s face was aglow, and Steve forgot momentarily why he had been avoiding him.

Then Tony glanced briefly in his direction, and the embers caught fire, and Steve remembered.

Though Tony’s fingers continued to bounce through the whirling song, Steve thought maybe he had seen the look of desperation and hopelessness on his face, because Tony’s own expression fell and he swallowed very quickly and very sharply, dropping his gaze to the keys.

“If you don't mind,” Bucky said cheekily, assuming the position for a slower, inappropriately intimate couple’s dance.

Tony obligingly dropped into a gentler, smoother song for Bucky to glide around the room to, with Natasha counterpoint and fluid in his arms. They looked stunning together, and Steve was flooded with thoughts of wishing he could dance with Tony that way, wishing he could see how he and Tony would look pressed together like that, wondering what Tony’s new mustache would feel like pressed against Steve’s upper lip…

He wanted to run from the room, but he was deeply rooted and simply frozen on the chaise, with the heraldry book open on his lap. It surely would hurt nobody but him if he were to simply enjoy Tony as he was now. Tony shone like the rising sun, red and gold and bright, and though it was painful, Steve could hardly tear his eyes away.

The song was drawing to a close, or perhaps Tony was simply drawing his own music to a stop, since the dance was not one Steve had ever heard before. The notes of the song became sweet and warm, encouraging the dancers to move closer, and Bucky glanced over at Tony—who only winked—before he leaned in to press a chaste, loving kiss to Natasha’s lips. The dance stopped with a trill, and Tony got up to bow ostentatiously. Natasha and Bucky gave him an obliging hand of applause, before they all seemed to notice Steve utterly still in tableau on the chaise. Apparently, Natasha and Bucky then seemed to swiftly decide they should abandon him to his fate.

“I will see you for breakfast,” Natasha promised Tony as she kissed his cheek again.

“And I will see you on the field tomorrow,” Bucky called to Steve as he and Natasha left the room.

It still felt like a place for dancing, with joyful notes of song whirling through the air, and Steve had half a mind to ask Tony to dance with him before realizing that there was no music, and that it was a ridiculous request anyway.

“They tell me you have been made a squire,” Tony said into the silence, still standing with his arms behind his back in front of the harpsichord. “Congratulations.”

He looked so certain – but sounded so unsure, and Steve wanted to kiss his frown away.

“Thank you,” he said politely, feeling like a fool.

There was another silence, and Tony heaved a sigh. “You must be kept busy.”

Steve nodded, but could think of nothing to add.

“I'm glad. I know you hated being trapped in here every afternoon.”

Steve turned to look at him. “Yes, I did.”

Tony looked hurt for a moment, devastated, and Steve only had enough time to feel confused at the raw pain showing on his face before it disappeared in the next heartbeat, and Tony gave him a winning smile. It did not brighten his eyes, though, and Steve hated that smile more than he hated Tony’s aloof stares.

“I should go to bed,” Tony said, suddenly. He started moving a moment later, as though the command had suffered a long delay between his mouth and his legs.

Steve felt a flush of panic, feeling that he had missed something, and that he would miss something bigger if he allowed Tony to leave right then. He jumped to his feet and reached out to grasp at Tony’s sleeve when he passed by. “Wait,” he said, not quite as urgently as he felt, pinching the white sleeve of Tony’s shirt between the tips of his fingers and trying to hold the man in place.

Tony stopped and turned to look at Steve. His eyes grew wide briefly, and he put his hand on top of Steve’s head. “You’re getting tall,” he observed, since Steve was about eye-level with his chin, now, and showing no signs of stopping.

Feeling childish again with Tony’s hand resting on his head that way, Steve shook it off like a disgruntled hound – and Tony lurched back as though he’d been burned, returning his hand to its partner behind his back. His eyes were wide and Steve had the feeling he was missing something yet again.

“Goodnight, Steve,” Tony said quickly.

And Steve hardly had a chance to sketch a bow and return, “Goodnight, Tony,” before the prince was darting from the room like a startled stoat.

For the next few days, it appeared it was Tony’s turn to avoid Steve, since Steve was certainly making no conscious effort and he barely even saw the man’s shadow after the night in the drawing room.

One night, Steve lay awake in his bed listening to Sam blissfully snoring from the other side of the room, and he wondered, briefly, if Tony’s actions would make more sense if he were feeling the same things Steve was feeling. The wondering soon stuck in his mind like a stubborn burr, and by the time the midday meal rolled around, he could think of little else.

He inquired after Tony from a string of castle servants, who pointed him in the general direction of the castle town. Steve grew more confused as he continued on through the streets, following instructions of the townspeople until he ended up in front of the great barn doors of the local blacksmith. Uncertain what the prince could possibly need forged on such short notice, Steve slipped in through the small side door and slid noiselessly through the stores of tack and farming equipment stacked in his path. The smithy rang with the sound of metal clanging against metal, sharp against the racket of the roaring fire, which he could hear crackling and snapping in the center of the room.

Steve poked his curious head around the end of the wooden wall and was confronted with a sight he would likely never forget so long as he lived.

The scraping sound was the blacksmith, who was seated at a bench and shaving at a piece of metal with what Steve could only assume to be a razor-sharp piece of another metal. The fire gurgled mightily from its pedestal in the center of the room, casting out sparks and dancing orange light in the otherwise dim chamber.

The clanging came from Tony, who was beating what appeared to be a large ploughshare into submission over an anvil. He had removed his waistcoat, surcoat, and belt, and so wore only his shirt and hose beneath a heavy leather apron. He had rolled his sleeves up past the elbow and let the shirt gape open at his throat in deference to what must have been the intense heat of the fire. He was dripping with sweat, his hair curling with it where he allowed it to grow almost to his shoulders, as was fashionable for the nobility; though it was tied back at the nape of his neck with a strip of ribbon. His face glowed gold in the fire, his finely-muscled body flexing visibly beneath his shirt as he drew his hammer up over his head and brought it clanging down on the cooling metal yet again.

Something hit in Steve’s gut which felt at once excited and terrified, and he quickly drew back behind the wooden wall, gasping in a breath.

This was dangerous. Tony was dangerous.

 

## ✯

 

Steve tried to remember that as the years dragged on. Lord Stane had come to an agreement with Lord Fury on King Howard’s behalf that Natasha and Tony would not be married until she turned twenty-one, at which point she would be well and truly on the shelf and it could be certain that Tony was her best option. Tony’s kingdom was small, after all, and Natasha’s attracted a lot of trouble, but Steve could also not shake the fear that Lord Stane had offered Lord Fury reason to believe that Tony would be unfit as a husband, and he could not help a stab of fear that Lord Stane might know about his affliction.

Because as those years went on, Steve became more and more certain that Tony shared this affliction with him – that perhaps he suffered from it even more than Steve, when Tony’s life was so closely scrutinized at every turn. Steve was a lowly squire, and Tony was a prince. His associations could only naturally be expected to be gossiped upon. Steve tried to remember this as Tony’s very personality seemed to jump in between moments: from staring at Steve’s lips as they said goodbye, and on into the beds of women dotted all around the castle and Kingstown.

He tried to remember this when Tony appeared at dinner looking ruffled and flushed, and yet still staring at Steve as though he had never seen another human being before.

They painstakingly avoided talking about it, and while Natasha and Bucky had realized the situation and respected the pair’s decision to remain silent (or at least had the decency to keep quiet about their opinions, for the moment), Sam made no secret to Steve what he thought of the silence and awkwardness.

“Why are you so scared?” he demanded one evening, as they prepared for sleep.

Sam would still be rooming with Steve until he became the official falconer of the castle and could move into the quarters by the mews, but for now they were all comfortable maintaining the current arrangement. (Well, Steve could currently think of a single rather compelling argument against it.)

“What’s the worst that could happen?” Sam pestered.

Steve turned to gape at his friend, perched on the edge of his bed in the middle of removing his breeches. “Everything, Sam,” he managed. “We have everything to lose. I have everything to lose. Tony might be able to recover unscathed but I… I would be ruined.”

“Nat would never let anything happen to you,” Sam countered dismissively. “Is Tony not worth it?”

Steve really had no answer to that. He simply did not know.

 

## ♛

 

The summer after Tony turned twenty-one, he looked out the window of the carriage as it rumbled through the hills of Natasha’s kingdom, wondering why people had to make life so complicated.

Natasha was simple – they would be married, they would produce at least one heir, and hope that the child looked sufficiently like Tony that they would never have an issue with nosy and traitorous would-be usurpers. He loved her, and she loved him, and that would be that. It was not at all unheard-of for married people to take extramarital lovers, not even for royalty. Perhaps especially for royalty. He and Natasha were definitely the exception for royal marriages, since not only did they already knew each other, but they already liked each other greatly.

Even so, Natasha had Bucky, and Tony would by no means begrudge her that.

Tony wished he could be so simple, but of course he had to make everything so much harder than it could have been. He was certain that if he were to take a mistress or two—or nightly—Natasha would not be upset (well, she might take issue with the nightly rotation, but, frankly, so would Tony).

But he could not expect her to turn a blind eye were he to bring men into his bed; he simply could not do that to her.

And yet the situation was even worse than that, because it was not that Tony wished to take male lovers, which could perhaps have been excused, but that he wished to take one specific male lover. Sexual relations with other men had certain times and places in which they could be easily ignored, especially in times of conflict, or where the partner in question was a lowly stable worker or some other such position. Though Tony did not actually care about such social distinctions, he was still very much aware of them and their uses.

It almost would have been easier if Steve had remained the drifting Crown ward – and yet Tony would never wish to take from him his position as Sir Alexander’s squire for anything, least of all Tony’s passing comfort.

Steve was well on his way to becoming an exemplary knight. He had been well-trained in chivalry and other such knightly trappings, and over the past few years Tony had been extremely gratified to find that he now had to work that little bit harder to draw out the snarky little terror he knew lay behind those polite blue eyes. Steve had grown far taller as well, outstripping even Bucky the last time Tony had seen him, and therefore Tony too by a rather disconcerting margin.

It grew more and more difficult, as the years went on and Steve started to leave the last of his childhood behind, for Tony to deny what he felt for him. Steve had turned sixteen the previous summer, and Tony was hard-pressed to find more than just traces of the white-blond, twiggy, sour little boy he’d first met in the man Steve was becoming. His hair had darkened to pure gold, like a crown gifted to him by Nature herself – though his skin remained pale, and changed in the sun only to display an array of freckles like constellations over Steve’s nose. He was still thin, but he lacked the sickly, frail look of his youth.

His eyes remained the same: rich blue and shimmering, framed by long, feathery lashes that Steve lacked the coy art to use to full advantage. Tony would have him no other way. Steve was brusque, and stubborn, and solid, and Tony was hopeless for him. A seemingly endless stream of lovers—female and male with little distinction—had done nothing to change how he felt about Steve, except perhaps to fan his desire for the man into an almost unstoppable blaze.

Tony closed his eyes and pressed his cheek against the rattling frame of the carriage window. The rolling mountains and steep drops were beginning to give way to the hills, after which there was one tall hill to climb, upon which Natasha’s southern castle was perched. The now-familiar feeling of roiling excitement was building in him as they approached the castle. When he finally succumbed to the urge to stick his head out of the latched window, he saw all his friends gathered there outside the gates. He was too familiar a fixture around the castle by now for Lord Fury to bother greeting him personally, but that did not bother Tony in the slightest.

He held back as long as he could, but the horses were slowed practically to a crawl as they made up the final distance to the gatehouse, and Tony could stand it no more. He flung open the carriage door and ran past both the carriage and the horses, a smile wide on his face.

Bucky and Natasha jostled with each other as they started towards him as well, though Tony saw a well-placed elbow take Bucky out of the running with a wheeze, and then Natasha was in his arms and he twirled her around as high as he could lift her.

“Tony!” she scolded, giving him a frown but making no efforts to escape.

He settled her back on the ground and allowed himself to be pulled into a rib-crushing hug. She smiled against his collarbone and greeted him formally with her face mashed against his neck, commenting on his more elaborate mustache without even looking at him. He laughed and returned the formal greeting while curling his fingers through the heavy fabric of her blue velvet dress.

“Nat!” Bucky whined from behind her, and his voice was deep and strong and masculine now, sounding as though it had finally stopped threatening a squeak whenever he became excited.

Tony simply held out his arms around Natasha, at which Bucky shrugged but gamely strode forward to hug Tony around Natasha’s body. She grumbled but did not seem displeased with the arrangement.

“It's good to see you,” Tony told Bucky warmly.

Bucky returned the greeting and also expressed his delight with the new facial hair, before he squeezed Tony a little tighter in his arms – Natasha finally let out a truly displeased noise. The pair of them drew back to allow Sam through, and once he had thoroughly embraced Tony and petted his mustache questioningly and scolded him for being several days late, he drew back and Tony allowed himself to look up at Steve. There was another young man Tony did not recognize standing there with dirty blond hair, a cheerful grin, and a bow and quiver slung over his shoulder, but Tony only barely noticed him because of _Steve_.

He whispered Steve’s name and the man came striding over. He gathered Tony in an eclipsing hug and Tony just soaked it in for a moment.

Then he drew back, and made a loud squawking noise. “Are you Steve or are you the man that ate Steve?”

It earned him a chuckle, and a wonderful blush. Tony did not bother resisting the urge to run his hands up Steve’s arms from his wrists to his chest, feeling the thick new growth of muscle there. He squeezed Steve’s impossibly broad shoulders with only slightly feigned disbelief. “You aren’t even wearing shoulder padding!”

Steve ducked his head. “Tony…”

But he seemed pleased by Tony’s reaction, and Tony would have to purchase Sir Alexander something very nice to thank him for getting Steve healthy and strong in a way they never thought he would manage, not after his childhood of poverty and famine.

Not just healthy – Steve looked like a hero of myth.

This did not bode well for Tony’s capacity to fight down his overwhelming attraction to the man.

 

## ✯

 

Somewhere along the way, Tony had gone from being a source of constant aggravation to becoming what felt like one of the deep roots of happiness in Steve’s life.

Tony had mostly grown out of his terrible childhood temperament and manners, though he was always ready to cause mischief, and it seemed—ludicrously—to be _Steve_ more often than not playing the responsible adult in their group, especially when Sam was not there to be level-headed and reasonable.

Tony took to Clint like a falcon to the air, and was calling him ‘Hawkeye’ with poorly-disguised glee after their first afternoon practicing archery out on the training fields. Tony was no mean shot himself, but he was outstripped by Natasha and Bucky by a fair margin, and Sam by a slight one. Clint, however, was in a whole different realm from the rest of them. He was secretive about his past, but Steve got a good feeling about the man – mostly since he had snuck into the palace in the dead of night several months before, risking life, limb, and more, to warn Natasha that one of the feuding Asgardian houses had recently put a bounty on her head.

Considering the fact that _he_ was one of the mercenaries sent to collect that bounty, it was something of a miracle that he had been so easily accepted into their social circle at the castle.

That may have been due in part to the fact that he had almost cried with awe when Natasha managed to get a knife to his neck practically at the moment he entered her bedchamber, and insisted that she teach him how to use a blade like that. Which had lead to Natasha teaching all of them how to use a small knife (to varying degrees of success), Clint teaching them all how to shoot properly (to even more varying degrees of success), and Bucky and Steve gleefully and indiscriminately practicing their swordsmanship on them all.

After the initial public dismay that the princess and her friends seemed to spend most of their afternoons attempting to murder each other in good humor out on the training grounds, it was simply accepted as part of the castle life.

Tony was not incapable of fighting by any means, but he clearly did not take quite the pleasure in it that the others did. He also had a natural heart condition that had persisted through the threshold of teasing and proved itself to be something of a threat to his consciousness if he overexerted himself. This was not something that had ever been a problem when he was a child but, when pressed, Tony said something about the Asgardian pirates who had taken him briefly captive a few years before, and then said no more.

Steve remembered that feeling of a weak heart from his frail youth, and made certain that Tony was not made to feel defective for it.

So it became the norm that Tony would fight with them until he reached his limit, then he would work on his own projects while sitting on a hay bale or against a fence post, calling out insults occasionally or asking their opinions on whatever he was working on that day. He designed a new bow for Clint that had the archer almost mute with shock after he first tried it out, after which he was practically as fond of and loyal to Tony as any of the others who had known him since they were children.

On alternating days, Tony would go riding to spare himself the dangers of sparring. He was an excellent horseman, fearless and utterly wild, and the others had to start taking turns with who would accompany him – since riding with Tony on their days off from training was often just as strenuous as the sparring itself. Natasha loved to ride, but she preferred jumping and the more technical aspects of working with a horse to flat-out runs or forest hunts, so she tended to go out in a trio with Tony and Sam. Sam was a good rider but mostly enjoyed it because it allowed him to pursue his much deeper love of falconry. The three of them would set out to hunt on their afternoons, and Tony would come back flushed and bragging about all the animals Redwing had killed, as proud as if he himself were the huge falcon’s trainer.

Sometimes Clint went with them as well, and it turned out that Clint was a skilled trick rider. He was under oath not to attempt to teach Tony how to ride a horse backwards, sideways, balanced on his hands, or in any other questionably sane manner, no matter how much the prince needled. So that was how they found out another snippet of the former mercenary’s past: Clint had belonged to a traveling entertainment troupe for most of his life, which was the source of all sorts of bizarre talents.

Bucky and Tony were an excellent riding match, since they both enjoyed the thrill of speed and competition – but Bucky was more cautious and careful than Tony, which ensured that their rides never fell too far out of hand. Steve always went with Bucky and Tony, practically giddy to have both of them all to himself for however many hours they were out riding.

Steve loved riding with Tony as much as he enjoyed doing anything in Tony’s company. Sir Alexander gave Steve permission to borrow his favorite of the knight’s horses: a large, cheerful dun with a jagged white star on her forehead called Liberty. It was something of a group consensus that Tony was not to be put on any horse more powerful than the royal stables’ fastest mare, an energetic young bay named Audi – because considering the death-defying speeds and tricks he did with her, practically flying over the countryside and any obstacles in their path… nobody even wanted to consider what he would do with a gelding or, heaven forbid, a stallion.

Steve, Tony, and Bucky would soar over the grassy hills together, and Steve considered himself a brave man, but even _he_ felt the deep thrill of fear at the reckless speeds they reached. Tony always ended up beaming and bright-eyed, Bucky frantically and fruitlessly scolding both him and Steve. Honestly, Steve thought a little terror was worth it.

They ate supper together as a group in Natasha’s private dining room, and the long-suffering Lady Hill had long since given up on pretending there was any sense of propriety to the princess dining unsupervised, nightly, with a foreign prince, two squires, a falconer, and a mercenary who had once been sent to kill her.

Steve was very careful not to be alone with Tony whenever possible, knowing that there was safety for him in the group. He had no proof that Tony shared his dangerous affliction, but Tony appeared to share Steve’s aversion to being left alone together, despite the clear joy he took in Steve’s company when they were with their friends.

One evening, they were all lounging in the drawing room together: Bucky curled up on Natasha’s lap and Clint curled up on Bucky’s, while Sam attempted bravely to teach Steve how to dance yet again. Tony accompanied their efforts on the harpsichord, but not long into the endeavor he was laughing so hard there were tears on his cheeks and he certainly could not play any longer. Sam threw his hands up in despair and went to go sit on the couch opposite the one containing the Natasha-Bucky-Clint knot.

“You're so graceful on the sands,” Tony was gasping between laughs, and Steve was likely a shade of burgundy at this point. “How can you be such a terrible dancer?”

Steve shrugged helplessly. “Perhaps it's the partner?”

Sam clearly took exception to that, and actually pulled off his shoe to throw it at Steve. Steve caught it on a reflex, which sent Tony further into giggles as he tried to communicate without being able to form sentences that Steve should be able to dance if he was able to display such otherwise fine motor control.

So Steve succumbed to the desire that had taken up a space in his chest so many years ago in this very room, and held out a hand to Tony. “Dance with me,” he challenged.

Tony blinked up at him, surprise overriding his mirth. He looked at Steve’s hand, then up at him. “Will you tread on my toes?”

“Not if you're fast enough,” Steve retorted, which made Tony grin and take his hand.

This was one of the most intimate touches they had ever shared, since usually they were both extremely careful to avoid this sort of thing. Steve got the sense that this was a bad idea even as he dragged Tony in close to his chest, but there was no chance of him abandoning it now. Tony made abrupt motions at Natasha, the only other member of the group with the capacity to produce music from the harpsichord.

So Natasha extricated herself from the two men atop her legs and took his place. She immediately launched into a fast, jaunty reel, which Tony instinctively attempted to drag Steve into as soon as it began. But Steve was bigger than Tony, and refused to move; just gave Natasha a look pleading for mercy. She grinned sharply at him and segued into a much calmer, more structured rhythm, with lilting midtones and a solid beat to follow.

Tony tried admirably to coax Steve into something resembling a dance, and Steve concentrated on the lines of Tony’s body as he moved and suggested how Steve should be moving – and after a little while, some missteps, and a great deal of trial and error, they actually managed to create a passable dance between them.

“You really are a genius,” Bucky crowed at Tony, who grinned and squeezed his hand around Steve’s arm.

“Are you proud of yourself?” Tony asked him, smiling up to where Steve was gazing down at him thoughtfully.

Steve shrugged. “I told you, I only needed the right partner.”

Tony’s eyes grew very soft and warm, and Steve began to wonder, yet again, if it really would be so wrong to give in to this.

“Bet you they kiss before the summer is out,” Bucky whispered obtrusively to Sam (who was several feet away from him), over the easy but rather loud tones of the music.

Steve turned to glare at him and Tony went stiff in his arms.

Sam was shaking his head. “Not a chance.”

“Bet you,” Bucky insisted.

The music stopped suddenly as Natasha turned on the stool to face them all, and Steve and Tony broke apart as if they had been pulled by invisible ropes.

“I shall take your bet,” she said to Bucky imperiously, while Steve tried to figure out what exactly to begin protesting first.

“If I win, I pick your wedding dress,” Bucky said, smiling wolfishly.

Clint made an awed sound, then turned sharply to hear Natasha’s counter.

“If I win,” she said, her green eyes glinting. “I choose the knight’s arms for you and Steve.”

Steve did not even have time to lodge a protest before Bucky chirruped, “Done,” and pranced over to shake Natasha’s hand. He then kissed the back of it and winked down at her.

“I'm not entirely sure what just happened,” Tony admitted, carefully not looking at Steve.

Natasha stood up gracefully from the harpsichord and walked over to pat his cheek. “I'm simply giving myself a reason not to wring both of your foolish necks,” she smiled.

Tony blinked at her. “Thank you?”

“You are most welcome, Prince Tony,” she sassed, before kissing him on the cheek and leaving for bed, soon followed by the others now that the evening’s grand excitement appeared to be over.

 

## ✯

 

After supper a few days later, Natasha disappeared into her bedchamber for a moment and then returned to the cleared table to present them with her designs for Steve’s heraldry, were she to win the bet; presumably in an effort to coax Steve into kissing Tony and ensuring her loss.

Steve stared in some dismay at her hand-drawn shield. “Is that a duck?”

“A swan,” she corrected crossly, pointing at the dark blotch at the top of its bill.

“Is it…” Sam began, craning his head around for a different angle. “Crying?”

“It's triumphant,” she snapped, ignoring Clint and Bucky snickering beside her.

“Why a swan?” Steve had to ask, at which Natasha just gestured at Tony.

With all eyes suddenly on him, Tony did his best to read Natasha’s mind. “I suppose, she's referring to the children’s story, about the ugly duckling.”

Steve, Bucky, and Clint all blinked at him in confusion, while Sam began covertly grinning into his napkin.

“But Nat said it wasn’t a duck,” Clint said, peering suspiciously down at the drawing in the middle of the table.

“No,” Tony continued, sending dirty looks at a smiling Natasha. “In the story, a swan’s egg gets placed in a duck’s nest by accident, so when it hatches the mother duck and the other ducklings think it's just a very ugly duckling. But then it grows up and it turns out to be a swan.”

There was a moment of dismayed silence before Sam, who seemed to be familiar with the original tale, guffawed loudly. “You're a horrible storyteller, Your Highness.”

Tony shrugged unabashedly while Steve stared down at the shield in consternation.

“But swans are _jerks_ ,” Steve finally managed to get out, which sent Bucky and Sam into paroxysms of laughter, while Tony and Clint beamed and Natasha just smirked.

 

## ✯

 

Despite Natasha’s best backhanded efforts, Steve felt himself retreating further and further from Tony as the summer bled out, finding that he was beginning to wish he were someone else, or that Tony was, which was a thought that could only lead down dangerous and heartbreaking paths. So he went riding with Tony, went hunting. Clint used them all as target practice, and Tony continued to help the blacksmith with his work in exchange for the use of his forge to create individual weapons and uniquely crafted pieces of armor for his friends.

Steve drew Tony from every possible angle but never let him see the drawings, and he got to know Tony’s face better than any other person he had ever met. The straightness of his narrow nose, apart from the slight curve up at its tip, his thin but pouting lips, his aggressively strong chin, disordered eyebrows and glowing brown eyes. Steve could draw Tony’s face from memory now, imagine his smiles, picture his scowls: keeping it all stored inside himself this time, for when Tony was gone.

Even preparing for Tony’s departure, Steve did not feel ready by the time the day came.

Tony said his usual warm farewells to the others, exchanged with Clint the very odd punching and hand-slapping ritual they had developed over the summer, embraced Natasha tightly and breathed in the fresh, herbal smell of her hair.

He came to Steve, and all they could do was stare at each other until Tony finally broke and held out his arms. And although Steve was taller than Tony now, able to just barely tuck the prince under his neck so that Tony’s nose pressed against the bone of his jaw, Steve felt like Tony surrounded him completely. Tony was safe, and kind, and an infinite challenge.

When Tony finally got in the carriage and it pulled away, Steve’s chest burned and he could not remove one sole thought from his head.

_I love him._

Natasha took his arm comfortingly and he turned to look at her with slightly widened eyes. _I love him_.

“I know,” she said in response to his silence, and gave him a sad smile.

 

## ♛

 

When Tony arrived at Natasha’s castle the next summer, neither Bucky nor Steve were present – off on a training mission in the northern mountains with Sir Alexander.

They had been gone for months and were due to return in another month’s time, and Tony felt very cheated. He and Steve had exchanged the occasional friendly letter over the past year apart, devoid of emotion except in the very deepest crevices of the words, since it was impossible to know who might get their hands on those missives. Steve had warned Tony of this long mission, excited about it in the letter but giving just enough indication to Tony that he too was frustrated by the poor timing.

Tony got to keep those letters though, with Steve’s determined, blocky hand and determined, blunt words. It was a poor substitute, but it was still a part of _Steve_.

Nevertheless, Tony, Natasha, Sam, and Clint managed to amuse themselves in the others’ absence. One memorable afternoon, Natasha demonstrated the trick riding Clint had been teaching her – first on a horse, which was honestly impressive enough, and then on _Tony’s shoulders_ , which he's certain would have been far more pleasing had it not ended up with him flat on his face in the sand with one of Natasha’s strong, trouser-clad thighs wrapped around his neck.

“Other men would find this position very enticing,” he mused to her, spitting sand off his tongue with a series of little _ptht_ noises.

She tightened her grip while Sam and Clint egged her on, digging her sharp fingers into the sensitive crook of his elbow. “Do you not find me enticing?”

“Very much so—” he tried to say, but she spoke right over him.

“Or am I not quite blond and muscular enough?” she teased.

He grumbled a little bit. “You're hardly lacking in strength, Nat.”

She purred, pleased, then crushed his throat a little bit more to lean over and kiss his cheek, before finally springing off him and letting him stagger to his feet. Sam and Clint shouted eagerly about Tony having been taken down by a small, delicate princess, which only earned them Natasha’s attentions in his stead.

He quite enjoyed the results, petty as it might have been.

Tony rather hoped Lady Hill had been relieved of her duties for good at this point, or that somebody had long since noticed that Natasha was never going to be the demure princess many people would hope for. He loved her just the way she was, deadliness and breeches and all, and he knew she would make an excellent queen. She was brilliant, sharp, stunningly beautiful and one of his best friends. In two years she would be twenty-one, and then they would be married.

Steve and Bucky returned a little later than they had been due, just over five weeks after Tony arrived at the castle. And Tony knew immediately that something was wrong with Steve. They all maintained their composure when the two young men rode into the castle courtyard, a large audience there simply because it was a highly public place. Natasha formally welcomed them both back to her home and invited them in for the afternoon meal. Tony grasped both of their arms in turn – but while Bucky gave Tony a pleased smile, Steve noticeably did not look him in the eye.

Tony’s mood shifted to the very edge of control when he saw that.

They all met up in Natasha’s dining chamber after Bucky and Steve had time to bathe and change clothes after their long time on the road and out in the wilderness. By that point, Tony was practically jittering with nerves.

“We have inbound,” Sam said from his place by the door, peering out into the hallway.

It was a little needless to say, since he was gone with a whoop a scant moment later, and everyone could hear him colliding with one or the other of the two squires and shouting in joy outside the door. Bucky came bursting into the room a moment later and, to Tony’s utter shock, went in an arrow-straight line for where _he_ was seated, rather than to Natasha. Tony barely jumped to his feet in time before he was being crushed against Bucky’s strong chest and pounded on the back.

“Welcome back, Tony,” Bucky said happily into his ear, before pulling back and giving him a grin.

Bucky was nineteen, now, and a very handsome young man. He was one of the last of them to keep the round cheeks of his youth, which only added to the cheekiness of his crooked grin. His hair was shorn close to his head as was the norm for squires, and he had become noticeably rounder of chest and shoulder even in the scant year since Tony had last seen him.

“You're late,” Tony accused, clapping his hands on Bucky’s shoulders.

“Sir Alexander abandoned his squires on The Peak,” Bucky told him, frowning. “So we had to make our own way home without the maps or the caravan.”

Tony had some choice thoughts about Sir Alexander’s needlessly dangerous training methods, but decided to keep them to himself. “I see you survived.”

Bucky smirked. “With a few close calls.”

“I'm not sure being thrown off your horse into a ravine can still be considered just a close call, Buck,” Steve’s voice came reprovingly from behind him.

Tony peered helplessly around Bucky at the sound of Steve’s voice, and almost forgot about his nervousness when he caught sight of the other man.

Steve was beautiful. For someone who had started out so scrawny and pointy, with that overly large hooked nose and a jaw so wide it looked misshapen on his otherwise straw-thin face and neck, he certainly had grown up to be a startlingly handsome man. His nose became proud rather than beaklike as his cheekbones widened and sharpened – and as he grew tall and muscular his square jaw simply looked as powerful as the rest of him. His shoulders had become even wider since Tony had last seen him, which he would not have thought anatomically possible. Steve’s eyes were the same as they had always been, though, ever since they were just children – bright blue and thickly fringed, piercing and oh-so-clever.

Tony thought about Natasha’s joke about the ugly duckling, and found he could not help but to agree with her. 

“Steve!” Tony said brightly, not quite shoving Bucky out of the way to hurry over.

Then his nerves were shooting back in full force – because although Steve hugged him, he remained tense and unhappy the entire time.

“Tony,” Steve said finally as he drew away and put his hands behind his back. “It's good to see you.”

Never let it be said that Tony was unable to tell where he was not wanted. His excitement retreated quickly when he noted Steve’s demeanor, joy leaking out from him like water from a cracked vase. He too drew himself up, trying to catch Steve’s eye, but Steve still would not look at him.

“And you, Steve,” Tony replied coolly, swallowing back a litany of increasingly pathetic questions. “If you will excuse me, Nat, I'm not hungry.”

He left the room without looking at anyone, feeling like a coward, but knowing little more than the overwhelming need to get away from Steve before he did something truly pitiable, like beg him to just say what Tony had done wrong now.

Tony relived the early years of his relationship with Steve over the next week or so, both seeming to avoid each other with equal parts stubbornness and bitterness – at least on Tony’s part. Even Natasha had not tried to convince him to spend time with Steve, which Tony assumed meant that she did not know what was wrong and was determinedly working to figure out what it was before addressing either of them.

Either that or she did know what was wrong, and knew it could not be fixed.

Their days passed in smaller groups than they had last year, with Tony spending more one-on-one time with Natasha than he had since they were small children. That was admittedly pleasing, but also a reminder of how much things had changed since last summer, when the six of them could scarcely be separated for an hour at a time.

Natasha reached the pinnacle of her ability to stay quiet about the situation one evening where they had all come together in the drawing room. Tony was not in the mood to play the harpsichord, but Clint could play a mean lute and was serenading them all with increasingly bawdy and hilarious drinking songs, egged on by Bucky and Sam. Natasha did not involve herself, but was obviously enjoying it as much as the rest of them.

When it was very late and the moon and stars were the only light outside, Natasha suddenly stood up, pecked Tony on the temple, and left the room without a word. Tony had only a moment to be startled before she was joined by Clint, Sam, and Bucky, who said something like, “But Nat is far scarier than you,” to Steve before he too was suddenly gone.

Tony and Steve remained alone together in the room in silence, and Tony was all but ready to make like the rest of them and flee like a frightened partridge, when Steve sighed expansively and peeled himself from the large armchair he had been sitting in. Tony was seated on the floor in front of one of the low chaises, where Natasha had been preening his hair with her fingers, so there was a brief moment before Steve sat on the opposite chaise that he was towering over Tony. Never before had Tony thought to be nervous around Steve, but the other man was much larger than Tony, far stronger, trained in combat, and—most unnervingly—not acting at all like himself.

“I need to talk to you,” Steve said in a low voice.

“Will you look at me?” Tony blurted out, half regretting it and half relieved that he’d finally said it.

After a moment, Steve obligingly looked up and looked Tony in the eye. His face softened, and Tony’s nerves eased a little. Those blue eyes fell away though, as Steve laced his fingers together on his knees. “The way things were,” Steve said in a controlled voice. “They can no longer be that way.”

Tony did not bother pretending not to understand. “Why not? Things were under control.”

Steve shook his head briefly. “They may have been for you, Tony.”

He couldn’t help it: Tony blinked at him. Did that mean that Steve…?

“It can't remain that way,” Steve repeated, looking uncomfortable. “I am to be a knight. There are certain relations that can be… that can have their place, but you're – difficult.”

Tony swallowed. “I'm difficult.”

“You're a prince,” Steve said, and he said the word with a terrible emphasis. “There is simply no way that we could—”

“You would want to?” Tony asked, his brain stuck on that point.

Steve shook his head. “I will not.”

Well, that at least solved some of Tony’s concerns. They would not, after all, have to worry about how such an arrangement would work if Steve was unwilling to be involved in the first place. Tony forced all of his hurt and pain into a tight ball of iron in his gut, offering Steve a decent approximation of a grin. “Good to know. Good. I suppose that's over with, then. Friends?”

Steve stared at Tony with a very odd, uncertain look on his face, as though he was trying to read Tony’s mind. But he was not Natasha, and since Tony was going along with exactly what he wanted, he clearly decided to just let it be, and nodded. “We are friends, Tony. I will always be your friend.”

“Good,” Tony said again, wondering if he looked as ill as he felt.

 

## ♛

 

The next summer was their last before Tony finally married Natasha, and he was fully prepared for a rather less than cheerful greeting from Bucky when he arrived at the castle. Instead, Bucky was waiting for Tony at the marina when his ship docked, and Tony froze in place on the gangplank when he saw him.

His first thought was that something must be terribly wrong.

“Nothing’s wrong!” Bucky yelled loud enough to be heard over the hubbub of the docks, and he seemed calm and happy – from a distance, at least.

So Tony darted down the rest of the way to where Bucky was waiting as quickly as he could without completely sacrificing his dignity, and gripped the other man’s proffered arm. He gave in after a moment and pulled Bucky in for a brief hug, clapping him on the back and grinning.

“What are you doing here, then?” Tony asked as they watched his various possessions being loaded into the carriage awaiting him.

“Lord Fury sent me to escort you,” Bucky said distractedly, reaching out to curiously chuck Tony’s newly-bearded chin. “His informants are concerned that an attack may be made on you before the departing feast.”

“Who?” Tony grimaced, swatting his hand away.

“We’re not certain. Asgard is still in turmoil, and there is talk of another civil upheaval. It’s possible Fury is simply being overly cautious. I assure you though – he's taking no chances after the amount of time and effort he has put into arranging this marriage.”

Tony gave him a sideways look. “My parents?”

“Will also have an escort when they arrive.”

Tony nodded. “Does this mean you're to be my personal protection detail for the next seven weeks?”

Bucky grinned at him. “At your heel.”

“Perfect,” Tony grimaced dramatically. “Exactly what I needed this summer.”

“It could be worse. Nat has to put up with an overprotective Steve.”

Tony laughed despite himself – and despite the little curl of hurt in his stomach, one he was not yet sure would ever go away at the mention of Steve’s name.

Bucky was good company, as always: fascinated by Tony’s work with machines and automation, and full of questions and anecdotes about the past year at their respective castles. They fell silent for part of the trip as the carriage wove through the mountains, and then Bucky tentatively mentioned that he had been a little leery about deep crevasses ever since being thrown into one the year previous. Tony snorted at that and noted that most sane people had a healthy fear of deadly ravines, which led to an argument which descended promptly into a wrestling match in the close confines of the carriage.

They ended up with Tony, exhausted from his journey across the sea, falling asleep on Bucky’s well-muscled shoulder – which Bucky took quite gamely. Tony just _knew_ he was a closet cuddler.

Natasha greeted Tony upon their arrival with her customary crushing hug, as well as an effusive kiss upon the lips, which was new. She gave him a sly look and then glanced at Bucky, who flushed quite charmingly. Tony grinned at the pair of them, perfectly happy to serve as a go-between for inappropriate public displays of affection. If he were astonishingly lucky, he might even be invi— no, he cut off the thought as he always did, not willing to even fantasize about something so precious. Natasha and Bucky were a perfectly flawless couple, and they certainly did not need him interfering in their dynamic any more than he already did.

It was impossible not to notice Steve’s absence, which Natasha ended up addressing when Bucky started scowling at the empty space beside her.

“He’s just inside, with Sam,” she said reasonably. Then she added, less reasonably: “Clint is watching.”

Bucky and Tony both shot their gazes up to the battlements behind the guardhouse where, sure enough, Clint’s shiny gold head was visible. He gave them a jaunty wave when he noticed their attentions.

“That isn’t—” Bucky began at a volume slightly below a roar, when an arrow suddenly embedded itself in the dirt at his feet. The distance between the arrowhead and the toe of his boot was as thin as a fly’s gossamer wing. The three of them stared down at it in surprise for a moment, before Bucky dug it up with an angry yank and turned to shout at Clint, waving the arrow around. “That she's in range of your arrows does not mean she's safe, you buffoon!”

Tony and Natasha wisely decided to make a retreat before more arrows started flying.

 

 

 

## ✯

 

A few weeks later, Tony’s parents arrived with a fair assemblage of Menahahte nobility, filling the large castle to the brim with bustling bodies and riotous sound.

Steve managed quite skillfully to avoid ever being left alone with Tony, even as he remained at Natasha’s side at every waking—and some sleeping—hours. Tony looked more handsome and appealing than Steve remembered, which he would not have thought possible except it seemed to happen every year. Tony’s burgeoning whiskers of the last few summers had now become a fully-fledged mustache, accompanied by a beard which was artfully crafted to obscure the fact that his facial hair did not grow uniformly upon his chin.

As much as he wanted this very masculine development to help reduce the inappropriate affection Steve had for the other man, it seemed—to his despair—to have quite the opposite effect.

It was uncomfortable at best and downright tortuous at worst for Steve to stand at attention behind Natasha as she spoke with Tony and, later, his parents: listening to Tony’s deep, smooth voice and wondering what his beard would feel like against Steve’s lips, or his chest, or… elsewhere.

The situation may have been more manageable if it weren’t for one critical detail. Which was the fact that Tony was not respecting Steve’s unspoken plea to pretend as if their affliction did not exist. For as much as Steve found himself staring at Tony, watching him speak and gesticulate cheerfully, listening to his voice and ideas, seeing him kissing Natasha affectionately upon the knuckles and forehead, shoving playfully at Bucky and Clint, arguing joyously with Sam, or even just sitting around lackadaisically and scribbling in his notebooks – for all of the time Steve was looking over at Tony, Tony was looking back at him.

Tony’s eyes were large and bright, challenging Steve and refusing to back down. It was one of the things about Tony that made Steve’s stomach tighten with affection - that stubbornness to match Steve’s own. Only, these days Steve was simply too compromised by his own desires and traitorous heart to step up to Tony’s challenging glares.

He should have known Tony would not be accommodating. He would not be Tony if he gave in so easily.

From the moment of his arrival, King Howard was treated with no more than the barest minimum of courtesy due to him by the household, as he had not made the best of impressions. The first thing he said to Tony upon his arrival was a snide complaint about his son’s attire. (Though in the king’s defense, Tony had been sparring with Bucky and Natasha out by the lists, so the grass stains and liberally smudged dirt upon his person were quite eye-catching.) Nonetheless, neither Natasha nor any of her friends much appreciated the downcast look it gave Tony for the next few hours, and less still the false smiles and forced laughter and joviality Tony donned in the man’s presence – all of which was hinting at an ongoing pattern.

Queen Maria was a sharp woman who went as soft as ermine when faced with her only child. Despite her distant demeanor, Tony was clearly fond of her. Though the queen was generally expected to keep her own company with her ladies-in-waiting, she did not want for invitations to join Tony, Natasha, and even Sam sometimes on gentle rides around the fields. They whiled away many days on these outings, and many more saw them eating lunches from carefully prepared picnic baskets, lazing down by the creek in the afternoon breeze.

Steve always ensured that one of Bucky, Clint, or Sam would be present on these outings, since he knew there was a need for security but he had no desire to get to know the woman who had given Tony to the world, and whom Tony loved so deeply.

As the weeks slipped past leading up to the departure of the visiting royals—and a feast in their honor which, Natasha insisted slyly, would also serve as a late celebration of Steve’s nineteenth birthday—Steve began to suffer more and more each day from the bond tightening within him, demanding that he return to Tony’s side. The man was never more than a few rooms away from him for weeks on end, and yet they had not shared a single word that did not concern business. Tony’s looks were becoming both more prominent and more desperate, and Steve found—to his shame—that he was beginning to hope that Tony would break and finally approach him.

Because… Steve had no desire to ever live without Tony. And he knew he would never have to, since Tony was to wed Natasha one year from now, and officially unite their two kingdoms. Menahahte was small and quite self-sufficient, so Steve already knew that Tony planned to take up residence in Natasha’s lands and merely visit his own from time to time.

And yet, despite knowing that Tony would always be in his life here, something within Steve cried that it was not enough. Cried for more. Cried to lay his hands on Tony’s shoulders, or his head on Tony’s chest, listen to his heart and listen to his wild schemes; to run his fingers through Tony’s dark hair and trace the shape of his beard. Steve was so weak – a fool for ruin. He could not do this to Natasha nor Tony, nor to himself.

He would have to learn to live with this – and perhaps, given time, this illness of his would run its course.

His turmoil seemed to have reached a fever pitch on the night of the farewell feast. He was dressed more formally than he cared for, since although he was Natasha’s temporary guardian, he was also her friend and guest. Natasha had him trussed up in a midnight blue tunic with stamped brown leather trimming the cuffs and collar, fastened over his throat with a white laddered ribbon so that the rather wide neck did not splay out too far over his sternum. His hose were an even darker blue, his knee boots brown and highly uncomfortable. The only comfortable piece of the outfit was his sword belt.

His sole consolation in this matter was that Bucky, Sam, and Clint were trapped in similar vestments, so that they all looked almost like a matching set if they stood side-by-side. But unlike Steve, Bucky wore all black and gray, Sam preferred white and burgundy, and Clint was looking unquestionably spectacular in royal purple (which Natasha had deemed appropriate for the ex-mercenary, over Lord Fury’s strenuous objections).

At least… that had been Steve’s sole consolation until Tony entered the great hall with Natasha on his arm.

Natasha was a woman so effortlessly beautiful that she could have—and had often—worn breeches and a loose linen shirt and been the most spectacular sight in the room. Dressed up as finely as she was in a black velvet gown trimmed with red, with long red under-sleeves tight down to her wrists, a wide golden belt hanging in front almost to the floor, and her bright copper hair swept up in a glimmering gold diadem and dripping tendrils upon her wide neckline, she was radiant. She appeared every bit the queen she would soon become.

And Tony – Steve loved every look of Tony’s from dirty blacksmith to carefree noble horseman, but he could admit to himself that Tony in his princely finery was _breathtaking_.

The tunic he wore as he and Natasha caught everyone’s attention was deep red and trimmed at every edge with a thick band of intricate gold silk, reaching to his knees but slit at the front beneath his belt. Over the tunic’s chest was a large embroidered piece, looking almost like a plate of armor, which glittered in the firelight with precious gemstones to match the formal scabbard at his hip. He wore black breeches beneath tall black boots, and sweeping down from his high, buttoned collar and over his shoulders was a black cloak falling almost to his ankles. The inside of the cloak was all gold silk, shimmering and billowing behind him as he walked with Natasha down the stairs to the stone floor.

Steve’s throat had gone dry. He wondered absently if he had isolated the moment at which his final defenses began to crack, surrendering beneath the strain of holding back his love for this man.

He closed his eyes for a moment, wishing he had not thought the word.

Tony and Natasha were being cheered by the entire room, and Steve felt sick to his stomach. He jumped in shock when Bucky laid a hand on his shoulder, but when he met his friend’s sympathetic eyes he managed to regain enough composure to nod at the dismissal and make a quiet exit.

A long while later, after at least a few hours of solitude, Steve’s time of seeking shelter in the drawing room ended abruptly when the door swung open and someone stepped in, shutting the door firmly behind them. Steve did not look up over the back of the chaise at the entrant, assuming it was either Bucky or Sam come to pester him.

“You're missing your celebration,” came Tony’s voice, and Steve jolted to his feet. “Nat was looking for you for a birthday dance.”

Tony had shed his cloak at some point, standing a short distance from the door with his hands behind his back, peering at Steve.

There was a long silence. Steve felt it stretching out, unable to think of anything appropriate to say. Tony allowed the silence, though he was fidgeting almost instantly. He was never still, always in motion, dancing through his life. Steve was weak already, and Tony was standing right there, calling out to him with luminous brown eyes.

So Steve took a step forward and held out a hand. “Would you dance with me?”

Tony’s face sharpened, and he ignored Steve’s hand to meet his gaze. He searched Steve’s face for a long moment, before his arms dropped to his sides and he walked forwards. Their hands slipped into each other’s like they had done only once before, and Steve allowed Tony to lead again this time. He was not sure he was capable of much higher thought than simply following along. They bypassed the standard dancing position for social events, leaving Tony’s hand warm in Steve’s own, the other a tantalizing press on his back. Tony’s body was oh-so warm through his clothing, and Steve clenched his other hand helplessly in the fabric at his shoulder. They swept around the room in silence for a few steps, before Tony began to hum a gentle tune in his rumbling voice, pulling Steve into a new dance.

Steve held out for as long as he could, but soon he was inching forward into the lee of their arms, pressing his chest against Tony’s to feel the vibrations of his deep voice. This put their faces a breath apart, cheek to cheek, and Tony turned his head slightly to brush his nose along the flushed skin of Steve’s cheekbone.

The fireplace was crackling vibrantly in the background, and Steve had not lit any candles when he came in – so the light in the room was low, burning red and orange, flickering all around them. It danced vibrantly through his lids when Steve closed his eyes, breathing in deeply to smell Tony’s skin, his nerves shaking with Tony’s nearness. They had stopped their own pretense of a dance, standing still and wrapped up together, breathing heavily.

Tony’s nose swept upwards, and was replaced by his lips. Touching ever so faintly on Steve’s burning skin, catching staccato as Tony dragged them slowly across Steve’s cheek to his ear. When he kissed the shell it felt like a shock of lightning, and when he drew the lobe into his mouth and _sucked_ – Steve’s spine twinged and his knees faltered. Tony caught him quickly, keeping him upright long enough for Steve to find his feet and surge forwards.

Steve had kissed people before: had felt their lips play over his own and even felt the wet, warm sensation of a tongue teasing for permission to enter his mouth. He had never given that permission before.

But now… now his mouth was parted unashamedly as Tony’s tongue flicked up against the exquisitely sensitive underside of his lip. Steve trembled with every pass, wanting to return the gesture but feeling too unsure. His bottom lip disappeared between Tony’s, burning sharply as Tony sucked on it with little finesse, and a grinding moan finally escaped Steve’s throat. Tony groaned in response, which was almost as arousing as the way his hands both shot up and clamped around the back of Steve’s neck so he could dive into another deep kiss.

Tony forced his body forward into Steve’s with more strength than Steve could muster in response, and the two of them collapsed backwards onto the chaise in a bit of an undignified pile. Once they had settled, Tony pulled back and stared down at Steve, half his weight on the floor and the other half sending shocks of pleasure through Steve’s entire body from where it pressed down along his stomach, and from Tony’s knee not quite touching in between his thighs. Tony’s mouth was flushed, wet from Steve’s questing tongue. His cheeks were dark, and his eyes darker still. Steve’s fingers had made a riot of his hair, and he was breathing heavily, almost a pant.

Distantly, Steve was aware that he must look equally as debauched, if not more so, with his pale skin and the way Tony had seemed determined to ravage him with his mouth.

Slowly, Tony lifted one hand from the cushion, dropping his weight onto his remaining elbow and his knee, which was now pressing firmly into the inside of Steve’s thigh. Steve’s breath hitched at the feeling of it, the flash of desire over the constant pulse in his stomach, and lower. Tony’s hand was both smooth and rough with callouses where it touched his face, feathering over his cheek, then his lips, and Steve wanted to reach out and lick the tip of his thumb as it passed by, but was not sure if that was proper.

None of this was proper.

As Tony’s thumb moved down Steve’s jaw and on to the cords of his neck, the hot, beating desire that had been overtaking Steve’s mind started to recede.

His entire body tensed, ready to push Tony away.

Tony noticed, and lifted his eyes to Steve’s. “Don’t,” he said, his voice gravelly. “Don’t… over-think this.”

Steve swallowed. “I can’t. I can’t do this.”

Tony’s eyes sparked wild with something, perhaps anger, but Steve could not see that well in the dim firelight. “What are you afraid of?”

“Please get off of me,” Steve returned determinedly.

After a reluctant pause, Tony shifted his weight back onto his knee—which made Steve’s body jolt with a shock of pleasure—then he fell back to sit on his heel, his other foot still firmly on the floor. They stared at each other. Steve’s breath was evening out, but his nerves still sung with excitement and eagerness. He lay where Tony had dropped him, feeling too weak to even sit up. Tony had managed to undo the ties at his throat at some point, so his shirt was falling open to almost half-way down his chest – Steve noticed this only because Tony’s eyes kept flashing to the exposed skin there, then darting away.

Tony was rumpled as well, but Steve had been far too overwhelmed to make anything of his clothing except wrinkle it. His hair was a shock around his head, lit by the fireplace behind him into a glowing gold disk. Steve was ashamed of how much he wanted to return to kissing Tony, how much he desired to ruck up Tony’s expensive tunic and feel the skin of his stomach, perhaps set his mouth to it…

He swallowed. “I can’t.”

“ _Why_?” Tony demanded, but there was hurt and confusion in that word along with the frustration. “Tell me the truth! I know you want this, I know you want me. I want you so badly, I don’t understand _why_ …”

“You are to be married,” Steve reminded him coolly.

Tony gaped at him. “For a political alliance, Steve. You know I love Nat dearly, but I don’t desire her as my _wife_.”

“But she will be your wife,” Steve insisted. “You will be married. That means something, that _means something_ to me, Tony.”

Tony pressed his fists to his forehead for a brief moment, then dropped them to his lap. “It doesn't mean everything, Steve. … Love means something, too. To me.” It was Steve’s turn to stare in shock, while Tony visibly struggled to keep talking. “Does it not mean anything to you?”

“You're asking me to commit adultery with you,” Steve said, pale.

“Steve!” Tony snapped, eyes wide in panic. His hand leapt forward to clamp around Steve’s thigh. “Nat will do the same with Bucky. I know that, I'm comfortable with that – surely you must know…?”

Steve clamped his jaw tightly for a moment of anger. “That's their affair. You're asking for my complicity in another.”

“Complicity… Steve…” Tony sounded lost. “I want you. I'm… I'm sorry I'm not what you wish I was, but this is who we are and this is what we have been given. I have been given you in my life,” His hand left Steve’s thigh and reached upwards, but he was too far away to touch Steve’s face like he clearly wanted to. The hand dropped gently to Steve’s stomach instead, his thumb resting on Steve’s clothed navel and his fingers curling around his side. “If you want me, you have me.”

Steve’s hands balled into fists at his side. “Even if… I was willing. I will not share you. It's not… it's not right.”

“This is all we have,” Tony repeated, his fingers clenching on Steve’s belly through his tunic. “Is having even a little of me not worth it?”

Steve maintained his silence, unable to answer and unable to lie.

Tony blanched, and his hand lifted quickly from Steve’s body. Steve immediately felt the loss somewhere in his chest, and he had to force himself not to chase that warm, affectionate touch. Tony turned to the side, half of his face glowing with firelight, then turned away from Steve completely. They sat for a few minutes, and Steve had to watch Tony tremble slightly as he sought control.

This might be the last time he saw Tony so open, Steve realized.

Eventually, Tony turned back around – and now he looked angry. Even knowing that this was Tony’s way of defending himself, Steve finally shifted into a sitting position and waited for whatever Tony would throw at him.

“You are childish,” Tony snapped. “Naïve. You would really rather cling to your precious principles than risk some happiness?”

Steve set his jaw and glared. “Don't be angry with me for having a sense of morality.”

Tony made a nebulous snorting sound. “You're far too pretty to be so foolish.”

He tensed. “You say I'm the fool, and yet you’re the one who only wanted me after I became attractive to you.”

“What?” Tony hissed, recoiling. “That’s a lie, and you know it.”

“I know no such thing,” Steve retorted, swinging his legs off the chaise and standing abruptly, all but shoving Tony away from him to do so. “You can’t deny it, Tony, I was there the whole time.”

“You—” Tony gasped out. “You stubborn, _self-righteous_ —”

He stopped.

Without another word, Tony spun on his toe and exited the room, leaving Steve standing alone with the flames, feeling alone and ill and unaccountably uneasy.

 

## ✯

 

The day after the feast was a somber one. The guests trickled away for the journey home after the morning meal, and finally Tony and his parents took their leave without too much ceremony.

Bucky dutifully accompanied them to the docks, but not before sending Steve a few dirty glares. Though nobody knew exactly what had taken place between Steve and Tony the night before, they all seemed to have some idea. Natasha, in particular, kept sending Steve very narrow looks; but she was too preoccupied with sending Tony and the other visitors off to follow through on the threat. Sam seemed oddly… disappointed with the coldness that had sprung up between Steve and Tony, while Clint just looked tired of the whole affair.

Hours had passed since the visiting royalty had departed, morning bleeding lazily into afternoon and soon into evening, and Steve was sitting alone in one of the many guest bedrooms of the castle. That this one happened to be the room Tony had claimed every summer for fifteen years was only to be expected, really. Sam certainly seemed to have expected it, since he showed up at the door to the antechamber at one point and sat in silence with Steve. Feeling uncomfortable and lost, Steve had settled himself on the bed Tony had been using, wishing the cleaning servants were a little less efficient; wishing he could at least have Tony’s scent to bury his nose in and pretend for however long that his life was very different from reality.

“What happened?” Sam asked quietly, watching Steve from where he had curled up on the large windowsill. The last dregs of sunlight drifted down upon him even through the black and purple rainclouds hurling rain upon the castle, limning his face with a shimmering pale glow.

That light did not reach the bed where Steve sat. “I did what was necessary,” he said, after a while. His ribs felt too tight even as he told what he knew was the truth – he did not understand why it felt like a lie.

He remembered Tony’s weight upon him, Tony’s lips against his throat.

Slowly, carefully, he eased onto his side on the plush mattress, closing his eyes to see if he could imagine what it would feel like to have Tony laying along his back. It was too easy to imagine: Tony was warm, smaller than Steve though sometimes he felt so very much larger. Steve imagined the feel of Tony’s beard smoothing along the back of his neck, Tony’s breaths whispering behind his ear. He knew now what it felt like to have Tony’s mouth pressed against his lips, Tony’s body pressed against his own, and he knew he would never be able to forget the sensation.

But he realized, with a sort of disappointed lurch, that he had been too overwhelmed at the time to properly remember what Tony’s beard felt like on his skin, even after years of wondering and longing.

“Are you certain?” Sam asked carefully. “It doesn't look all that necessary from where I'm standing.”

Steve sighed, keeping his eyes closed even though the phantom of Tony behind him had dissipated. “He's a prince, Sam.”

“And…?”

“And I am no royal.”

Sam practically snorted. “Tony doesn't care. You know he doesn't care. This is about his marriage, not his status.”

Steve’s eyes flashed open to glare weakly at the other man. “Of course it is. Even if he were not a prince, and not a man, for him to be married and for us to… I can't.”

“You are the most… stubborn…” Sam trailed off, tipping his head against the cool stone of the wall at his back. “Are you so afraid to be happy?”

“That has nothing to do with it,” Steve snapped. But the question stuck in his skin: Tony had asked him almost the same one.

He did not fear happiness. He feared immorality; he feared orchestrating his own tragedy.

Sam was muttering something Steve could not make out, but he could guess none of it was terribly flattering. “We decided to let you handle this, Steve,” he finally blurted. “Let you take this at your own pace. But this has gone far enough. You _and_ Tony deserve better than this self-sacrificing determination of yours and… I have had enough. Tomorrow morning, we are—”

He cut off at the sound of pounding footsteps in the hall outside. After exchanging a quick, confused look, both Sam and Steve rolled to their feet – someone literally running through the castle hallways this late in the afternoon did not bode well by any means.

It was Clint who slammed through the door a moment later. “Great hall,” he hissed. “Right now, right now, _come on_.”

Steve and Sam took off running after Clint, and Steve managed to overtake them both on the way down. He burst into the enormous chamber and immediately ran over to Natasha, who was standing over a man Steve did not recognize. Both of them were in the middle of a buzzing crowd of servants and the odd courtier. The man was seated on a low stool, dressed warmly and covered with a blanket, but clearly soaked through from the storm outside. Lord Fury and several others stood close-by, watching the man with wary concern.

“Repeat yourself,” Natasha commanded after a quick glance in Steve’s direction.

The man spoke up in a shivering, nervous voice, shifting beneath the blanket he had been given. “I was on me way back to Kingstown, Highness, only just finished me day at the docks. Took the roads since with this storm… ain’t safe to ride in the forest.” He took a shaky breath as Sam and Clint arrived behind Steve, both of them frowning and severe.

“Was there I saw it, Highness. Looked like a battle’d been fought ‘pon the road. The trees were smokin’ even in the rain, Highness, burned like a been struck with lightnin’. Whole grove of ‘em missin’ on the edge of the ravine, Highness, I daren’t go no closer with the road in such state. Scuffed marks on the groun’, an’… looked like somethin’ big fell right o’er the cliff, Highness. I came’s fast as I could to tell ye. Somethin’ dangerous out in the royal forest this night, Highness.”

Steve barely registered Natasha thanking the man and turning to confer with Lord Fury.

The carriage. Bucky. _Tony_.

Not five minutes later, Steve and Sam were astride their horses and pounding at full tilt down the road towards the coast. Clint stayed behind only because Fury commanded that he confine Natasha to the castle. As much as Natasha snapped and snarled that she was more than fit to make the journey, Lord Fury would not hear a word of allowing his ward and princess to venture out into the heart of an unidentified danger in the middle of a storm.

Steve barely spared a thought for either of them as he and Sam raced through the mountains. 

Eventually they rounded a corner edging around the craggy mountainside – and saw the exact scene the villager had described. The once-packed dirt of the road was swirled with footprints, hoof-prints, and wheel marks, puddles of water already settling into the deep grooves. Most of the damage was haphazard and frenzied, but towards the edge of the road there were indeed vast scores in the mud that looked as though the carriage containing Tony, his parents, and Bucky had been pushed all the way to—and over—the edge. Where the carriage had clearly crashed through the treeline, the trunks of the little saplings at the apex of the cliff face had been snapped through or twisted right up out of the earth. There were no trees large enough to take the weight of the carriage this far up the mountainside, not at that steep, rocky edge.

With his heart feeling as though a cold hand were squeezing around it, Steve finally managed to break through his shock and swing down from his mare’s back. Sam was already dismounted, striding cautiously towards the flurried mud at the edge of the road.

“No sign of the escort!” Sam called back to Steve over the sound of the rain thudding all around them.

It was dismally true – for the dozen or so people on horseback who had accompanied King Howard and Queen Maria to Natasha’s castle, there was no sign of a single one of them. Steve’s stomach clenched when he realized… they must all have gone over the cliff.

“Could it have been a landslide?” Steve yelled, making the slow, sloppy trek across the mud that did its utmost to consume his boots each time he stepped down.

But Sam shook his head and pointed outward. “The trees!”

Steve squinted in the dim moonlight in the direction Sam was pointing, and could just make out the unmistakable blackness of charred wood on the trees whose trunks were remaining. The villager had not been exaggerating: each of them did indeed appear as though torched by a great bolt of lightning.

Finally, Steve drew abreast of Sam, as close to the edge as they dared, and they peered over together into the ravine.

Every hope that had been fluttering in Steve’s chest, insisting that it was perhaps not that long of a drop at this point in the mountains, that perhaps it was reasonable that most if not all of the caravan had survived the fall – every little flame of optimism guttered at once as Steve looked into the yawning, black chasm below. The cliff was practically sheer for the height of at least three men before ever so slowly beginning to level out. At that point, the trees could begin to grow, which meant that both Steve and Sam could clearly see a path slicing through the copse of broken trunks and splintered branches, where the carriage must have tumbled down.

Littered along the drop were the bodies of horses and men, some intact but some splayed in obvious death upon the ground and the hefty, unforgiving trunks of the trees below. At the sight of it, a wave of nausea swept cruelly over Steve, and it was all he could do not to turn away in horror. For all he was in training to one day become a knight, he had not been exposed to death before. Not like this. Nothing like this.

“We have to find the carriage,” Steve said, noting how remarkably even his voice had come out, when he felt like his entire body was trembling with fear.

Sam made a noise of dismay but did not comment. Instead, he helped Steve tie the horses' reins securely to a protruding tree root at the safe side of the road, then watched determinedly from a perch at the edge of the cliff face as Steve began to eek down the stone and mud. Sam had an excellent eye, better than Steve’s in this bad light, and he called out directions for footholds and smooth, slippery-looking patches of rock to avoid as Steve made a slow descent in the hammering rain.

With a few close calls, Steve made it to the end of the vertical face and staggered forwards slightly as the ground began to even out. He steadied himself with a tree branch, feeling its charcoal surface brush off on his hand.

He called up for Sam to remain in place for the moment, and continued on through the trees at a steep decline. The path of the carriage was not hard to follow, considering the amount of destruction it had caused, not to mention the fragments of what had once been its expensive adornments which now lay scattered all over the ground. The rain continued to sheet down against Steve’s face, even as he had to brace his shoulder against a nearby tree to take a deep breath, trying to still the quivering in his hands by clenching them into painful fists.

The last conversation he’d had with Tony echoed in his mind, louder and louder with every step he took. He had thrown Tony’s confession in his face - carelessly rejected his brave admission of love. That… that simply could not be the final time they spoke. He refused to allow those fearful, _spiteful_ words to be the last he ever gave to Tony. He would not have to live on with his last memory of Tony’s voice being one of anger and pain.

He forced back a choke of desperation and went determinedly on through the mud.

The carriage had traveled a long way down into the gully, but even at his careful pace Steve reached it within a few minutes. The carriage was upturned, with three of its four enormous wheels ripped off and strewn along the path it had created. The remaining wheel spun slightly in the wind, rattling against its axle from where it had almost joined its brothers. The carriage door was swinging open, slamming closed and then flinging itself away again as the wind whistled through the trees and did its best to tear the door free entirely.

Steve felt sick. Even just looking at the carriage… it must have tumbled down the decline, spinning and flipping before it finally landed in this place, wedged up against a large tree it had not had the force to dislodge. With numb legs he continued forward, approaching the carriage and watching his hand shake as it reached out to pin the door open against the side panel.

He blinked once, slowly, pleading with fate, and looked inside.

He first noticed Queen Maria, splayed against the back side of the carriage against the window frame, her golden hair and sky-blue gown covered in blood; her once-creamy skin now turning gray and punctured all over with splinters of the shattered window pane. Next to her, and hunched as if he had tried to curl around his wife as they fell, lay King Howard. His neck was tilted at a deadly angle, his spine twisted in two different directions. Steve almost retched at the sight of them.

Notably absent from the carriage were the two bodies Steve had been most dreading to find. It was far too soon for relief, but it washed over him nonetheless like a rush of cold air. His stomach churned with it, guilt tugging at him as he turned away from staring at the corpses of Tony’s only family.

After a moment to gather himself, Steve turned and shouted back for Sam to come down.

Sam came skidding into view not long after – accompanied by Natasha’s chamberlain, Phillip Coulson, and several other members of the castle staff.

“Bucky?” Sam asked when he was within speaking distance. Steve shook his head, dazedly. Sam looked as relieved as Steve had felt, then looked over at the carriage. “Tony?”

Steve had to shake his head again, and he felt Sam’s hand clamp down on his shoulder in sympathy and support.

Though quite abrupt and seemingly humorless at times, Coulson was nothing if not efficient. He soon had everyone present fanning out looking for survivors, for the prince – and the squire, though to him Bucky was clearly a secondary objective. Steve and Sam joined the others, trekking further down the side of the mountain, both tense and afraid and waiting in terrible anticipation for what they might find.

After a short while, Steve heard a female voice shouting over the wind: “Here! Over here!” and did not have even a moment to wonder which man she had found before he was skittering back up the incline towards her booming voice, Sam close on his tail. The woman who had called out was Coulson’s favorite minion: clerk Johnson’s daughter, an extremely clever young woman a few years Steve’s junior. Daisy was crouched on the ground over the figure of a man lying face-down on the dirt, her hair plastered against her face by the rain, and her skirts girded about her thighs but still dragging in the sodden mud. Her hands hovered over the man she had found, quaking, unsure whether or not to touch.

Sam gently urged her aside, while Steve was beginning to breathe for what felt like the first time since he had seen the carriage.

It was unmistakably Bucky lying on the ground; his hair far too short and light in color to be Tony’s, and his clothing too plain. Steve’s relief, however, gave way to a renewed panic when he saw how much blood there was on Bucky’s jerkin, and even his breeches. A moment later, Sam must have found no signs of spinal damage because he deftly levered his hands beneath Bucky’s shoulder, flipping him over.

The source of the blood became all too clear. Steve felt his knees give way briefly, but it was enough to send him crashing down into the mud.

Lying limply on the ground at Sam’s knees, Bucky’s entire arm was mutilated from his shoulder down past his elbow. Steve could not even tell what remained of his hand. It must have been caught in the carriage, or perhaps on a branch as he flew from the carriage in its violent fall. Steve thought he saw bone showing in some places, and he could hardly continue to look – revulsion clogging his throat and almost stilling his heart.

It was then that Bucky’s face moved. It was caked with dirt, filth and forest debris, bleeding sluggishly from several deep cuts and scrapes.

The ugly noise that came from his friend’s throat was one of the most wonderful things Steve had ever heard.

“Buck,” Steve gasped, strangled, and heaved his weight forward to kneel at his friend’s head, brushing muck away from Bucky's face as gently as he could. “Buck, it’s Steve, can you hear me?”

But Bucky did not respond. Panicked, Steve snapped his hand out to hover over the man’s mouth and nose, feeling his breath with a flood of relief and dropping his hand to clutch at the front of Bucky’s leather jerkin.

“Can I lift him?” he asked Sam, his voice sounding strange even to his own ears.

Sam had been carefully poking and prodding over Bucky’s skull, neck, ribcage, and pelvis, smoothing over the vulnerable stretch of his abdomen and inspecting the other arm and his legs. Kneeling beside him, Daisy had been assisting with the inspection, but mostly she was staring in horror at the remains of Bucky’s left arm and attempting to wrap it up for transport, pulling strips of scrap fabric from the pack she was wearing over her shoulder. There was not much she could do, and even Steve could tell that the arm was almost certainly going to have to go entirely from at least the elbow down. The damage above there was mostly obscured by his jerkin, even as Daisy began to slit it open with her knife and wrap up the bloody flesh she exposed.

“Yes,” Sam said, eventually, when there seemed to be nothing more either he or Daisy could do here on the filthy earth, in the pouring rain.

With the others’ help, Steve hefted Bucky carefully onto his shoulders. Once he was standing, Sam stayed behind to keep searching while Daisy accompanied Steve up the mountain. She was strong and fit, expertly sinking into all the gaps in Steve’s vision and footwork as they scaled the perilous cliff face. She helped Steve get Bucky onto his mare with him, and gave his knee a comforting squeeze before telling him to have Liberty either walk or gallop as much as possible, to avoid jolting Bucky around too much on her back.

Steve set off at a sleek gallop, trusting his horse to keep her footing as they sped back through the rain towards the castle.

 

## ✯

 

For the next endless week, Steve had to be forcibly prised from Bucky’s bedside by an increasingly determined schedule of people to sleep, eat, and bathe or change clothes from time to time.

Bucky did not wake up at all for three days, and was only conscious in fits and starts for the next four or so, never fully coherent. Steve was mulishly adamant that he never be absent when Bucky was awake, sleeping on the edge of his cot and all but physically assaulting people trying to move him without a sufficiently compelling reason.

To his grief, Steve had been right about Bucky’s arm. The town doctor, Bruce, had been forced to remove it once they had cut off the remainder of Bucky’s jerkin and shirt and seen the terrible extent of the damage. His friend’s left arm now ended in a bundled stump a bare finger’s length from his armpit. Steve could not bring himself to sit on that side, but Natasha had no such compunctions. She was there at Bucky’s hip almost as much as Steve was, though she had numerous duties around the castle that could not be delegated indefinitely.

Sir Alexander, however, was very understanding about Steve’s wish to remain with Bucky, and had assured Steve that he was readily excused until Bucky was as recovered as could be expected. He seemed almost as shaken and distressed at Bucky’s injury as Steve himself, which was a little surprising, given that he had not expressed anywhere near that much concern for Bucky’s welfare the entire time Steve had known him.

While Bucky slept, accusations flung wildly and viciously around the castle.

The king and queen of Menahahte were dead. And the prince…

Tony had not been found. They had scoured the ravine for days, covered every place he could have possibly been flung and a fair amount of places he could not. And yet for all their efforts, there was no body, no blood, no trails – no trace at all of the man.

Many members of the court of Menahahte, as well as some of Natasha’s own courtiers, had insisted that Bucky must have had something to do with Tony’s disappearance. Bucky’s love for Natasha was a rather poorly kept secret, so he certainly had a motive of jealousy, at the very least. What he lacked quite spectacularly, the dissenters vehemently argued, was the means. Nobody was able to come up with a plausible situation in which Bucky could have caused such explosive damage to the scene and sent not only the carriage but six of the escorts to their deaths over the cliff, and five more to their near-deaths. Not least _while_ Bucky himself was in or on the carriage.

There was also the issue that Tony was not explicitly dead, nor injured, but rather vanished entirely. Moreover, if Bucky had, in fact, hired someone to perform the attack or kidnap the prince, there was no logical way he would have ended up in the middle of the crossfire, atop the carriage as it plummeted down – he certainly would not have lost his own _arm_ trying to convey false innocence.

It was a blessing, at least, that Bucky had been unconscious for all of this and not dragged in to defend himself against the ridiculous accusations.

Steve found the entire debate repugnant. He did not need to hear people argue to and fro about what heinous acts Bucky may or may not have performed and why, and he had no idea how Natasha could stand to listen to it for as long as it lasted before Lord Fury eventually ended the debate with finality. There had, after all, been a pre-existing threat against both prince and princess as the nearby realm of Asgard began to gear itself up for another terrible civil war. Political pawns were highly sought-after in these sorts of situations, and that was explanation enough for a disappearance rather than an outright assassination.

And through all of this, Steve… Steve had very carefully and with extreme bias avoided thinking about what had truly happened to Tony. Each time his mind tried to approach the topic he jerked it forcefully away. He focused on Bucky. He focused on the uproar surrounding the loss of the king and queen of the neighboring kingdom. The frantic search for an appropriate successor, at least until the prince could be found.

But Bucky did not sleep forever.

A noise cracked from his throat one morning, while Steve was busily drawing Natasha’s profile as she reclined opposite him in Bucky’s bedchamber. In an instant, both Steve and Natasha were on their feet, leaning over Bucky’s bed.

“James?” Natasha said, softly. This was not the first time they had been disappointed by the unfulfilled promise of his emergence from sleep. “James?”

The noise came again, this time persisting until it caught on his vocal cords and became less of a croak, and more of a pained moan. Steve instantly grabbed Bucky’s hand while Natasha laid her palm on his chest, gesturing frantically for Sam to go fetch the doctor when he poked his head inside.

“Nn… nuh—” Bucky said, and this time he was clearly trying to form words.

“We’re here, Buck,” Steve said soothingly. “Nat and Steve, we’re here.”

“Tun—t–tuh—” Bucky groaned, his eyes slitting open and squinting against the sunlight spilling into his room. His voice rebelled against every syllable he tried to form. “To–Tony, s–s–sa—safe?”

Steve’s heart throbbed in shock and hurt, but Natasha leaned forward so that her unbound hair trailed over Bucky’s chest. “Shh, shh,” she soothed. “You're safe, you’ve been asleep. Don't try to move.”

Of course, Bucky instantly disobeyed and shifted his weight as though he were going to try to get his arms underneath himself and sit up – Natasha pushed him firmly back down and Steve refused to let go of his hand. They managed to keep him calm until Bruce finally staggered in, panting deeply, and administered a sleeping draught.

“Now he has awoken, I feel more comfortable giving him medications,” the doctor explained a little while later, fussing over Bucky’s bandaged shoulder. “This is going to be… painful. Very painful. He will need to be on nerve sedatives for many weeks, perhaps months. I'm not – not really a surgeon, I have not treated a wound this severe before,” he admitted.

“I requested you because you're not a surgeon,” Natasha told him perfunctorily. “Any fool can take a man’s arm off. I wish for far more care than that.”

The doctor ran a hand through his wild brown hair. “Yes, my lady. I will do what I can to make him comfortable. He should make a good recovery, especially now he's talking so soon. Did you hear what he had to say? Was it coherent?”

Steve’s hands clenched in Bucky’s blanket, and he had to get out of the room immediately.

He darted from the bedchamber with nobody attempting to stop him. It was only a short trip from Bucky’s room through the suite’s antechamber and into the room he and Sam still shared. He collapsed on his own bed and sunk his head into his hands, elbows tight against his knees, his back bowing from the strain of not bursting into tears.

Steve did not like to think of himself as a man who lacked objectivity. Still, he knew that sometimes his emotions clouded his judgment, and as far as he was concerned, his entire dalliance with Tony had been little more than a perfect example of this. Tony was beyond untouchable, a hopeless prospect… and yet his emotions chimed in and made everything needlessly difficult for both of them. After all, Steve was fairly certain that Tony’s infatuation with him would have died a quick and painless death years ago had Steve not encouraged it with his own poorly-concealed attraction.

It was only now, now that Tony was out of Steve’s reach, possibly forever—possibly _dead_ , and the thought finally punched a small sob from his lungs—that he was beginning to wonder if he had not read his own situation horribly wrong. Was it possible that it was his emotions about the sanctity of marriage, those old speeches that his frail ma used to give to him whenever he asked her why she did not run from his drunkard, violent monster of a father that were the problem, not his feelings for Tony? Perhaps those speeches had been justifications for her own fear. Perhaps marriage really did mean nothing if there was no real, warm love within it. Perhaps a marriage vow was only words.

The very thought sent anxiety skittering down his spine, but he forced himself to consider it because… he could not trade his emotions for Tony for his emotions for his dead ma, he simply could not. And, if marriage really was no more than a contract designed for a cold, practical purpose—especially something as direly impersonal as a political union—what meaning did it truly have? What sanctity? Because right now, Steve felt that the love and loyalty he had towards Tony were far purer and richer than any ceremony that required little more than signatures on a piece of paper to have any meaning.

Right now, Steve was realizing how much Tony meant to him. How enormously important he was to Steve’s very existence. Compared to that riotous feeling of joy and fondness and gratitude he felt that he had _Tony_ in his life, the idea of a marriage keeping them separated seemed… sickly. Wan, and weak, and hardly even a contender.

He felt like he could scream, it was so unfair. How could he not have seen this when he had Tony right in front of him? Was he so selfish, so stubborn, that he was incapable of recognizing a blessing and a miracle all in one when it was standing in front of him with glowing brown eyes and a crooked grin?

He wanted Tony so desperately. He had always had him, had always had the luxury of turning him away – but now that he wanted him, he was gone. Now that he needed him whole and hale in his arms, no doubt making some sort of self-deprecating joke or deceptively intelligent comment about the mess Steve had made of all this… now that he could distinguish his desire for Tony from every other daily need he had, he was gone.

Tony was gone.

He might never come back.

No. No, Steve would get him back. Neither Tony nor he were the type of men to take something like this without a fight. He knew Tony would be doing everything in his power to make it back home, wherever he was right now, and Steve swore upon the stars that he was going to fight to make his way to Tony and bring him home safe.

This was not how things would end between them. They had an entire life ahead of them full of love and devotion, Natasha’s sharp tongue and soft smiles, Bucky’s free affection and determined good sense, Sam’s cheerful scolding and his constantly bringing those nasty birds into their rooms, Clint’s terrible sense of timing and all the horror and laughter it would no-doubt bring them…

And kisses with Tony. Nights with Tony, mornings at his side, in his arms. Evenings in front of a warm fire with nothing to do but enjoy each other’s presence.

All of that, Steve would fight for.

Tony was out there, somewhere, and Steve was going to bring him home.

 

## ♛

 

Tony woke up abruptly in the dark.

His entire body ached, from a pounding headache in his temples to what he hoped was not a broken ankle. It took him several long moments to realize that he was on a thin straw cot, and that he had certainly not been in bed last he remembered. The memory of what had last happened to him was hazy, blurred somehow, and it took him a long while of lying very still and wishing his headache away before the memories began to trickle in.

They had been in the carriage, on the road to the docks. His mother was trying to discern why he looked so melancholy after such a wonderful feast, and his father was berating him for looking forlorn in front of the princess – as if Natasha cared, at this point, about him keeping up appearances. Not that either of his parents were terribly up to date on his relationship with her, for all they would not stop talking and questioning him about it. Honestly, Tony was fairly certain they both thought he and the princess had been having sexual dalliances together for years, and he had to studiously remind himself not to think about his parents arranging for an eight-year-old and a five-year-old to spend their summers together in the hopes that they would get a head start on their conjugal obligations.

Then there had been a loud noise from outside, and the carriage had drawn to a jarring halt. After a few seconds of some sort of uneasy silence, Bucky had slipped seamlessly down from the coachman’s seat, through the door and into the main body of the carriage, where he crouched on the floor between the three frozen royals with his hand on his sword hilt. Tony’s parents had wisely kept their silence as they all strained to hear what was happening outside, beyond the shouts of their escort.

It happened too quickly for Tony to even brace himself.

Another shaking _boom_ echoed through the pass, ricocheting off the rocky walls and down into the ravine beside them, along with a bright flash of light. Tony’s mind had briefly considered asking Bucky if he had seen anything from his perch up with the coachman, when the entire carriage skidded to the side.

His mother screamed, and his father cursed and flailed for a handhold inside the sleek interior. Tony knew the exact moment when the entire mass of them went over the side of the cliff, because the pit of his stomach dropped in a sick lurch, and Bucky reached out wildly and wrapped his arm around Tony’s chest.

Then they were falling. Tony remembered the carriage spinning around him, as he, Bucky, and his parents turned far too slowly within it to keep from being hurt.

Almost as soon as their careening tumble began, one of the doors was cracked open by an impact with something hard and unforgiving, and both Tony and Bucky were hurled from the carriage as it made another flying turn down the mountainside. Tony had a brief second to miss Bucky’s sheltering arm around him after they were ripped apart by the force of their ejection, and then Tony lost track of the other man. Tony hit the wet mud of the ground almost face-first, his shoulder crunching against something solid and extremely painful.

He remembered lying stunned for a moment, the rain pouring over him with cold indifference. But after that he could remember nothing more.

His shoulder was stinging even as he lay still on the hard cot, aching deep below the skin in pulses that threatened to bring tears to his eyes. He wondered if he had broken a bone or two, or merely dislocated it. With a deep breath, he rolled his arm up and felt the telltale agonizing burn of a recently-set shoulder socket. That was a relief, at least. He did his best to catalog the rest of his body, slowly rolling each of his joints and feeling numerous twinges and tears in his skin, but nothing more serious than his already-mended shoulder.

The fact that someone had clearly set his injury helped clear some of the confused fog in his head. Tony was a genius, to be certain, but he had yet to master the art of snapping his own joints back into place while unconscious. Someone else had to be here. Perhaps the someone who owned the cot, or someone who had called for a doctor to set his arm.

He wondered momentarily if he were back inside Natasha’s castle, but dismissed the thought after taking a deep, questioning sniff of the air and finding the distinct scent of mildew, feces, and stale hay. It smelled more like a barn or a particularly revolting cell, perhaps even a cellar or dungeon, and he was fairly confident he had done nothing worthy of Natasha’s imprisonment or even ire between being thrown off a cliff and waking up in this disgusting place.

He declined to call out, not certain he wanted to meet whomever had pulled him from the wreck of the carriage and put him in here.

His mind caught up with his thoughts, and he clenched his hands in the sheet.

Bucky. His parents. They were not in here with him, he could tell – were they elsewhere in this place? Were they still at the crash site? How bad had the crash been, really? How long had he been unconscious? Where _was_ he?

A distant clang echoed through the stone room from what sounded like a long corridor or staircase beyond, and it effectively ground Tony’s thoughts to a halt. Somebody was coming.

Tony fought the pervasive aches and pains pulling at him as he shifted to sit on the edge of the cot, his hands curled around its splintered and slightly damp frame for support.

Moments later, the footsteps resounding through the place and disguising their number resolved slowly into a single pair of boots, striding in the direction of Tony’s cell. Keys scraped in the lock on the door, and what remained of Tony’s optimism about his situation crashed to the ground. When the door swung open, the light from a single fiery torch danced abruptly into the room, burning Tony’s eyes despite how small the flame was. By the time he had adjusted to the light, the door was closed once more, and a tall man was standing before it, staring back at him.

It was then that Tony realized that what he had thought was a torch was in fact a long scepter in the man’s hand – tipped with a golden stone glowing as though it were flame made solid. An enchanted gem, no doubt, and Tony amended his assessment of exactly how bad a situation he was in.

“Where am I?” Tony demanded, looking the stranger up and down.

“You can consider this your new home, Stark,” the man said in a foreign voice.

Tony tried not to gape. He sincerely hoped he had heard that quite distinctive accent wrong. “Am I in Asgard?”

The man frowned, his lips drawing into a sneer. “Hardly.” Tony had a brief moment of relief before the stranger quickly crushed it back down. “I would not take you into my idiot brother’s domain, not with the use I have for you.”

“Who are you?” Tony asked, feeling stirrings of unease settle deeply in his stomach. Fury had, apparently, had good reason to fear that the Asgardian civil conflict would spill over into Midgard. “Who are you working for?”

“I work for no-one, fool,” the stranger spat, taking a menacing step forward.

From the close quarters and flickering gem-light, Tony could see that the man was even taller than he had first imagined, with a long, sharp face and extremely high forehead. His long hair was not the more typical Asgardian gold or copper, but was instead very dark, perhaps even black against his pale skin. He was from the northern mountains of the foreign kingdom, then. Perhaps a supporter of the recently exiled prince, or even one of the rogue agents of Jötunheim.

Then again, he had said he did not work with others. While it was possible he was lying, Tony had to at least consider that he was being truthful. Not least because of his enchanted scepter. And, in that case… he had caused the explosions and the carriage crash on his own, apparently flipping the enormous, gilded royal conveyance straight over the edge of the cliff. That would require superhuman strength – or _magic_. Oh, how Tony hated magic. It was rumored, fabled, even, that some Asgardians possessed extraordinary abilities in the magical arts, which was one of the foremost reasons the rest of the nine realms tended to do all they could to avoid the entire kingdom and all its denizens.

Tony had only once been exposed to magic, as a young child; when the Asgardian Queen Frigga visited his home on a state tour. He had been all of four years old at the time, and had been playing with Rhodey out in the gardens as Queens Maria and Frigga were walking together along the flowerbeds. With a startled cry, he had tripped over an uneven patch and fallen hard along the cobbled path. His mother had cradled him to her chest, fussing over his torn-up knees and palms, while Rhodey hovered, the slightly older boy still ill at ease around Tony’s very prim and unforgiving mother.

It was as Tony did his best to obey his mother and stop sobbing that Queen Frigga knelt beside the pair of them, after laying a calming hand on Rhodey’s shoulder. She was older than Tony’s mother, and very beautiful with a soft face, kind eyes, and hair a much darker gold than Maria’s. The foreign queen had reached out to Tony, chanting something in a soothing voice that Tony could not understand, and then—with a flush of glimmering light—the skin of his knee beneath her fingertips knitted itself back together, spitting out the gravel ground into the wound and leaving no trace of it but the smears of blood. Tony stared at her in utter shock, and even Maria was transfixed as Queen Frigga deftly healed Tony’s other knee and then, after gently taking his wrists, his hands as well.

Even now, Tony felt torn between gratitude, wonderment, and stubborn anger at the very concept that an individual might reach out and bend the laws of reality to suit their wishes at any moment. Queen Frigga was noted for her healing gifts, but as he got older, Tony had begun to wonder if the queen truly had a gift for restorative magic, or if she simply chose to use her gifts that way. After all, if the terrible war between Asgard and Jötunheim that had broken out not five years later was any indication, many—if not most—of the magical Asgardians did not choose to wield their powers so benignly.

All evidence, therefore, indicated that the man currently holding Tony captive was indeed an Asgardian and, far worse, a magical one with no particular qualms about using his abilities destructively. How many of Tony’s people had this man killed to spirit Tony away to this place? Had he killed Bucky? Had he killed Tony’s parents in this wild scheme?

But to ask these questions would betray several weaknesses Tony would rather keep close to his chest, all things considered, so instead he asked: “What do you want with me?”

“Nothing more than what you can give freely,” the Asgardian said in what he must have thought was a soothing voice.

“I will give you nothing freely,” Tony snapped.

“Perhaps not now, young Stark,” the man retorted, sounding both irritatingly calm and highly condescending. “But your will shall not hold out forever. You will give me what I ask for. I have time to wait.”

“No, you don't,” Tony informed him, sitting up as straight as he could without wincing. He would stand, if he thought he would not immediately collapse from pain and weakness. “My people will come for me, make no mistake.”

“Oh,” the other man said, a large, ugly smile stretching across his face as he took another step towards Tony. “I make no such mistake. But you are wrong, Stark, to think that they will ever find you.”

“They will not stop until they do so,” Tony said staunchly.

The man sighed, though his unsettling smile barely faltered. “It is not up to them. This place is hidden from their sight. Even if they were to stand not three strides from you, they would not see you. They would not hear you. You could strike them upon the face and they would feel nothing more than the wind.”

Tony’s stomach dropped. “You're lying.”

The Asgardian shrugged carelessly. “Perhaps I am. I only mean to tell you now that you will never be found. Do not let false hope keep you from doing what is smart, Stark.”

“I am my parents’ only child,” Tony snapped. “You're truly mad if you think they will allow me to remain with you forever.”

“Oh, your parents,” the man said, taking yet another step closer, so that he hovered over Tony. With a dramatic flick of his heavy cloak, the man dropped into a crouch before the ratty cot and the rattled prince upon it. The man’s face could have been kind, could have been handsome; but instead Tony saw only a serpent in his deep-set eyes and his teeth bared in a cruel smile. He was older than Tony by at least a decade or two, judging by the lines of his face, and his eyes were icy. “Your mother is dead, Stark. Your father too. Long live the king.”

It felt as though Tony’s heart had stopped entirely. The concept did not make sense. It could not make sense. His parents could not be dead. It simply could not be.

“You're lying,” Tony hissed, but the Asgardian just smiled that terrible smile and tilted his head.

“I am afraid not, King Anthony,” he smirked. “It was not my intention to kill them, I assure you, but I must admit it's not an entirely unpleasant outcome. Perhaps they don't yet believe you are dead, Stark, but soon even the most hopeful of your vassals will begin to believe.”

Tony gritted his teeth. “You're wrong. Natasha will believe no such thing. Steve will not rest until he finds my body, dead or alive.”

The Asgardian chuckled. “You think I cannot create a body for them to find?”

With a sinking feeling, Tony realized that the magic-wielder was probably more than capable of doing so.

“It is of little consequence,” the man said, as though they were not literally discussing Tony’s life and his death. “I know of your Steven Rogers. I watched you, Stark. It is a shame he was not present upon the mountain, for me to strike him down in this terrible accident. I suppose his dear friend Barnes will have to suffice.”

Tony almost choked.

“I hear the young squire’s arms are to be a swan,” the Asgardian continued, peering at Tony. “For his terrible temper, perhaps?”

 

  
  


 

It was a fond joke – a warm, private source of laughter around the castle that the burly, golden Steve’s knight’s arms were to be a delicate, irritable waterfowl. It was not supposed to be dragged in here, into this dungeon, this mysterious place. Should never be spoken of by this loathsome man, who spoke of killing in one breath and then in the next of humor in which he had no place.

Tony was almost breathless with anger. “For any number of his admirable traits, you vile creature. He will find me, no matter what trite spell you put upon me. Have faith in _that_.”

The man’s eyes flared with rage, and he darted out with his free hand to snare Tony’s throat in an iron grip. “Have care when you speak thus to a prince of Asgard,” he snapped viciously, and—

Tony realized who he was. _Loki_ – the conceited, vengeful younger brother of Crown Prince Thor of Asgard, said to have been banished from the realm for traitorous actions during their last war with Jötunheim.

“Steve will end you,” Tony wheezed through the grip on his throat, his mind wheeling with fear. “You _coward_ , traitor. I don't know what you want from me, but I promise you this—” He gasped in a deep breath as best he could. “—I will never agree of my own free will. That will _never_ happen, do you understand?”

Loki snarled, tightening his grip and cutting Tony off with an involuntary yelp. “I would tear your beloved Steven’s head from his shoulders if it would still permit you to agree freely, you insolent child. Take heart that this, and only this, is what will prevent me from slowly and agonizingly killing each and every person you care about to enforce your compliance.”

He let go of Tony’s neck abruptly. Tony coughed in a breath and glared up at the ruined prince with watering eyes. “ _Never_ ,” he snarled again. “I don't care what it is you want. There is nothing you can do to me to make me change my mind.”

The Asgardian’s eyes seemed to glow gold for a moment. “If I cannot coerce you, if you are too _noble_ and _proud_ to acknowledge your own foolishness,” he sneered. “Then nothing is stopping me from keeping you here by magical means. If, as you say, there is nothing I could do to you that would change your mind.”

Tony blanched slightly, realizing that his need to talk at a gallop when he was afraid had steered him right into the path of a terrible trick.

“You were right, Stark,” the traitorous Loki tossed out as he stood and brushed off his cloak carelessly. “I could not have prevented anybody from seeing you, were you right before them. I am powerful, but I am no god. But I can ensure that even if they find this place, they will never find _you_.”

The scepter in his hand tipped immediately in Tony’s direction, and he had a moment—as the burning gem glowed white and red like glass pulled from a furnace, and Loki snarled a series of words he did not understand—to feel an all-encompassing terror. His death was imminent, and he barely even had time to acknowledge it. He had heard that a person’s life appears before them like a ballad of sight in the moment before they die, but he did not even have time for this.

A blaze of light arced from the gem into the center of Tony’s chest, shoving him over the surface of the cot and into the wall behind with a painful thud.

It took him several long seconds to realize that he was not dead – but that he wished he could be. The only sounds he heard were the roarings of _pain pain pain_ down his spine, and screams torn from his own throat as he collapsed from the cot onto the filthy stone floor. Through flashes of agony he saw that Loki had vanished along with his dreadful scepter, but that the door was wide open. With a shout of horror at the phantom sensation of his flesh sloughing from his bones, he lurched to his feet and staggered as fast as he could manage from the cell.

The pain was pulsing, burning like fire, like each of his bones was being shattered and repaired with every wave of it. He was only distantly aware of climbing a staircase, hurtling down a dark hallway. Of grasping at his heaving stomach as though he could prevent his body from shaking apart if he only clutched it tight enough.

Something deeper than his own mind was pulling him along, though he longed to just collapse in a heap of blood and gore upon the ground.

Instead he found that he had exited the building in which he had been kept, with no locked doors or iron gates to impede him. His boots were soon thudding across grass, soggy and muddy, the early evening air cool against his skin but not enough, not nearly enough to counteract the burning _pain_.

He did not understand where he was running until he all but tripped over a thick growth of cattails, and stumbled blindly through them into an icy body of water.

Without a thought, he threw himself beneath the surface, and the pain did not recede but instead began to take direction. Pulses of it shot through his bones, heaving at his muscles and his skin. An itching fire spread across his flesh, as though he was being stabbed over his entire body. But with the water there, cold and still and liquid around him, the pain began to become tolerable and, eventually, it faded away entirely.

Tony could feel his lungs burning for air, and he moved his body haphazardly. He felt jerky, clumsy, as though his legs had been cuffed together at the knees and his arms tied behind his back. His neck _ached_ , feeling weak and heavy. He eventually managed to flip his body around so that he floated on his stomach, then went through the needlessly difficult task of dragging his head out of the water – which felt like it took ten times longer than it should have.

For a while, he simply breathed, luxuriating in the feeling of not being in what felt like fatal agony.

Soon, though, he became aware that the oddness of his body, the strange weight upon his shoulder blades, the disconcerting _wrongness_ of his neck and the base of his spine – none of it had disappeared along with the pain.

Slowly, he opened his eyes. He was upon an enormous lake, glowing with the light of the dying afternoon sun and shimmering beautifully in the gentle breeze. To his side was a small, ancient castle ruin, which he could only assume was where he had been kept by Loki. The first thing he wondered was if Loki had lied, and he was in fact in the magical realm of Asgard. For everywhere he looked, he could see brilliant flashes of colors he had never seen before, and which he scarcely had a name for.

The second thing he wondered was what animal he had been turned into.

Clearly he was not dead, and if Loki intended to ensure that anybody stumbling across Tony in this place would not recognize him, the logical conclusion was that his appearance had been altered. However, due to the extraordinary pain of the transformation and the fact that all his limbs and bones and even his _vision_ all seemed wrong, he was probably no longer human. With a deep preparatory breath—and even that simple inhale felt viscerally wrong—Tony tipped his face down to look at his reflection in the lake.

“ _Oh, you disgusting serpent_ ,” Tony snapped – or, he meant to snap that, but what came out of his throat was rather more a brief series of hisses punctuated by a surprised _honk_ at himself.

It was no wonder his neck felt so terrible. He was a swan. A _swan_. With an orange bill, crested with a black knob beneath beady black eyes, a long, thick white neck, a rounded body covered all over in what appeared to be feathers glowing white in the dregs of the sunlight and, not to forget, two enormous panic-ruffled wings flaring up behind him in alarm.

With a conscious effort, he attempted to remain calm. His wings settled down slightly against his newly horizontal back. So he was now a giant, crabby waterfowl. So he could no longer speak. So, if anyone did somehow manage to find him, there was little to no chance they would recognize him, even if he found them before they moved on from this place. His wings drooped off his back and into the water, his long neck sinking as he continued to stare at his reflection in sheer horror.

He was not certain this situation could get any worse.

And then the sun set.

 

## ♕

 

“I have something,” was how Clint announced his return to the castle.

He had slipped into Natasha’s chambers while she and their three other friends were eating supper – the meal was quickly forgotten.

“Talk,” Natasha demanded, indicating for Clint to come sit with them at the table.

He had been gone from the castle for a little over three weeks, but apart from that they knew very little about where he had been and what he had planned. This was becoming the norm for him, without a more defined role within the castle than simply ‘the princess’s friend.’ All of their lives had settled into an uneasy new equilibrium in the months since the attack. Natasha found herself missing the security of her longtime betrothed in more ways than the obvious, as it seemed that every week after the mourning period passed she was receiving increasingly generous and attractive offers of marriage from princes and wealthy nobles from throughout the nine realms.

By far the most adamant of the petitioners for her hand was Lord Obadiah Stane, the newly-appointed regent of Menahahte, who claimed quite logically that in the tragic instance of the king and crown prince’s deaths, the contract of her betrothal to Tony should fall upon Stane as the new ruler of his lands. Natasha had received missives and messengers to this effect on a near-constant basis since the end of the mourning period. However, she insisted that while the prescribed period of mourning may have passed, her personal one for the loss of a dear childhood friend was only just beginning.

Or, at least, that was the official line she extended to reject the incoming offers, not to mention help fend off Lord Fury’s concerns.

“I am no widow yet, Lord Fury,” she maintained, time after time, adamant that she and Tony had been as good as married since their betrothal years earlier.

But the real reason was that she simply would not believe that Tony was dead, not until she had exhausted all possible efforts to either find him or prove the terrible truth. At almost four months since the accident, she had not yet exhausted those resources, though she was having to start becoming more creative. That was where Clint came in. More specifically, Clint’s heretofore generally unspoken past as a criminal, which put him within numerous unsavory circles able to dole out a wealth of secret knowledge. He agreed freely to tap into those contacts, with the proviso that none of the others could join him in that dangerous (and, in Steve’s case), morally repulsive world.

Judging by his grim smile, it seemed that his efforts this last trip had paid off.

“Those burns?” Clint asked, directed at the princess. “You were right. A great many people remember seeing burns like them before, during the first insurgence. See, it turns out it takes quite a strong magic user to generate a heat blast such as the one at the accident, which already narrows our options down quite a bit. I have spoken to every notable chemist and weapons-maker on this and the other side of the Sea, and they are all insistent that nothing but magic could have done so much harm without blowing a hole in the side of the mountain. Which means the marks in the burns we thought could be runes probably were just that.

“And once you're certain it's magic,” Clint finished off. “It's simply a matter of narrowing down magic users strong enough to create such a blast, and cross off all the ones with a good alibi.”

“Do you have a list?” Sam asked into the brief silence.

Clint reached into the inside of his jerkin and pulled out a neatly folded piece of paper. “Even better than that, Falconer. I have a list with only three names left on it.”

Bucky glanced over at Steve. “I assume we're not waiting.”

“Tomorrow afternoon,” Steve agreed, directing his comment to the room at large. Natasha had a ship in port they could use, and there was little else to prepare other than their personal packs.

This was by far the best lead any of them had managed to find on the identity of the mysterious attacker. It was quite remarkable—and highly unnerving—that the person had taken eight lives, one arm, and one prince almost four months ago, and then simply disappeared into the æther.

Armed with this new information, the five of them were packed and ready to depart by noon the next day for Asgard. Their immediate objective was to cross more names off of Clint’s list, so in the interests of time they had split into two teams. The first, comprised of Steve, Bucky, and Sam, Clint sent after the second two names on the list: an Asgardian woman known only as Amora the Enchantress, and a man of unknown origins named Aldrich Killian, both of whom had last been seen in or heading for the southlands of Asgard, far outside of the cities.

Natasha knew Steve had not been happy with this assignment. Not least because it was her and Clint who were to track down information on the first name on the list: Loki, the disgraced prince of Asgard.

Loki had last been seen in the capitol, rotting in a prison cell beneath the city after his attempt to murder his father, the king, and his successful murder of his queen and mother. As far as all official reports were concerned, Loki was still imprisoned in Asgard – but Clint had found out on his last trip it was suspected that the wayward prince had in fact recently escaped his father’s and brother’s clutches, and disappeared into the wider realms.

And to find out for certain, they would either have to ask very kindly and hope the royal representative of Asgard with whom they were soon meeting was accommodating – or else they would have to sneak into one of the most heavily guarded and technologically advanced buildings in the nine realms, break into their records vault, and find out by those means, or perhaps kidnap and torture the information out of someone. Though neither Natasha nor Clint were shy of hard work, there was a definite appeal to at least _trying_ the easy way first.

It was the sheer appeal of Loki as a suspect that had Steve practically staging a rebellion during the four day journey on the ship over to Asgard.

“There is no reason to split in two,” Steve was shouting at Clint on the main deck of their rather small craft, while the entire crew did their best to pretend they could hear nothing of it over the roar of the sea. Natasha watched from her perch in the shrouds over their heads. “Loki is the most powerful magic user on your list, with the most motive, and the timing of his escape is _far_ beyond coincidental.”

“We don't yet know exactly when, or even _if_ he escaped,” Clint shouted right back. “Until we know whether or not he escaped before the attack, he's no more likely the culprit than the other two! All I know is that he made his alleged escape ‘recently’,” He threw his hands in the air. “That could mean he escaped last month, Steve, I don't know!”

“Then if we establish his alibi we can split up to search out the remaining two magic users!” Steve insisted.

Clint made a noise at him. “They will know we're coming! As soon as we step foot in Asgard we have mere days to track down each of our suspects.”

Steve opened his mouth to continue arguing, but before he could make a sound Natasha decided to drop down from the rigging between them like a spider from her web, landing in a crouch and effectively startling them both into silence.

“Prince Thor is one of the men who made a suit for my hand,” she informed Steve, and both he and Clint blinked at her in surprise. “I intend to arrange an audience with him under the guise of establishing a closer personal relationship as I consider his proposal – my famously elaborate courtship with Tony makes this request seem quite reasonable in comparison. Therefore I can't bring James along with me, not before I have met the prince and formed a better opinion of him and how he might react to such a thing.”

Bucky wore his affections upon his sleeve, and to put him in a room with her and another man seeking her hand would be pure foolishness. Steve deflated slightly – because he surely realized that if Bucky could not go, neither of them could, and it would therefore truly be best for them to seek out Amora and Killian. If he insisted on going with Natasha, he would only be leaving Bucky behind, either alone or with Sam, which she knew he could scarcely stand the idea of for fear of what might happen to Bucky.

And, far worse, leaving Bucky behind might suggest to him that Steve valued him quantitatively less now than before, in the measure of one left arm.

For a long while, Bucky had not adapted well to the loss of his limb, nor even made any attempt to. That was only to be expected, but none of them had the capacity to empathize. For weeks after he awoke and discovered his arm gone, he had sat upon his bed and stared at the empty space where it had been for hours upon hours. Sir Alexander had visited and, with obvious and genuine regret, informed Bucky that his services as a squire were no longer needed.

Bucky had taken the news so quietly that it had frightened them all.

Now, months later, he was finally beginning to really adapt to and accept the new life he had to live. One in which he had not only lost an arm, but along with it the entire future he had been training for throughout most of his life – ever since he was a young page running letters for Sir Alexander through the castle, or helping to darn the knight’s stockings. However, now that his sense of purpose was rockier than it had ever been before—even (or perhaps especially) considering the odd jobs and tasks around town he found to fill his days—there was little Bucky would tolerate less than being left out.

All of this, however, seemed to lose some of its importance when it came to finding Tony, which had more or less become one of Bucky's sole reasons for recovering from his melancholy. There was little he would not put up with to find his friend: whose absence he felt acutely responsible for, no matter how the others tried to convince him otherwise.

So it was that Princess Natasha and her loyal guard Clint Barton dressed in their best travel clothing, as was only appropriate for an informal visit such as this, and arrived in the capitol of Asgard. The city was quite stunning, with its golden sandstone buildings and intimidatingly towering spires overhead, like great musical organs. But they moved through it all quickly on their way to the palace, where they immediately requested an audience with Prince Thor, as had been promised to Natasha in her recent letter. They were soon ushered into a room just off the courtyard in the middle of the spectacular palace, and given refreshments to ignore while they waited for the prince to arrive.

When he did, he was not remotely as either of them had anticipated, based upon physical descriptions they had been given of his brother.

Prince Thor was extremely tall, as expected, and had brilliant blue eyes like the other prince, but that might be where the likeness to Loki abruptly ended. The man was built like a siege tower, with vast shoulders, a broad chest over a waist thick with muscle, and as he strode into the room his bare arms bulged defiantly out from beneath his navy cloak. His hair was long, waved like water and the color of gleaming sand, braided intricately with stones and beads, and decoratively looped around his head in lieu of a crown.

A great golden medallion gleamed in the center of his chest, likely some sort of royal trinket. It was the precise color of his hair, flashing in the sunlight like his curious eyes.

He was a very handsome man indeed and, more importantly, the omnipresent scowl that seemed to be widely associated with Loki was entirely absent from his face.

“Greetings, Princess Natasha,” Thor called in welcome, striding confidently over to her and bowing to lay a chaste kiss upon her knuckles. He gave Clint a short, curious look and a shallow bow, greeting him by name once introduced but then turning back to Natasha. “It is my great pleasure to make your acquaintance, but you must forgive me, Princess, for my hesitance. Though I am glad you have come to visit my home, I am not quite certain of why you have chosen to do so now, and what other business you bring. You informed my castellan that your concern today was of dire importance.”

“I'm afraid that's true, Your Highness,” Natasha replied grimly. “Though I intended to meet with you nonetheless after the pleasing offer you sent in suit, I have found myself in need of information the likes of which only you can give me and, if you don't mind me saying so, I can't imagine you will be eager to part with it.”

Thor’s eyebrows jumped up, and he flashed another assessing look over at Clint. “To what does this information pertain?”

“To your brother,” Natasha said, bluntly, and immediately a shadow fell over the prince.

“Loki,” he said faintly, almost involuntarily. “You are not incorrect, Princess. There is little information regarding my brother with which I would part without good reason.”

Natasha reached out and placed a hand upon his bare, highly muscular forearm. “I would not request anything of you such as this if I had not a good reason. I ask only that you listen to my own suit, in this matter.”

Thor eyed her reluctantly, but came to his decision quickly and nodded in the direction of the door. “Perhaps a more private setting then, Princess. Your man is welcome to join us.”

The prince led them to a set of stairs which they ascended in short order, then along a long corridor down into one of the wings of the palace. Judging by the way the traffic of other people disappeared entirely in this part of the palace, Natasha presumed it was the private residence of the royal family. They remained largely silent at first, until Clint commented on some of the ancient suits of armor lining the walls, at which point he and Thor began discussing the topic of what did and did not fall under the category of ‘too much’ armor. They discovered that Thor wore nothing more than wide-link chain mail upon his arms in battle, preferring the freedom of movement to the protection of plating, and Thor discovered that Clint had never worn metal armor in his life, to the prince’s clear shock.

“My friend!” he exclaimed as they rounded another corner. “How is it you have survived so long as a warrior without armor?”

Clint gave a bit of a shrug. “I'm an archer, Your Highness, not often within range.”

“He is far more than a mere archer,” Natasha clipped in, suddenly conceiving that to have the renowned warrior Thor on their side would be a goal worth actively pursuing; especially if his brother were in fact involved. Thor’s brilliant grin at the mention that Clint was an archer was promising enough, but this was no time for understatement.

Both men turned to look at her in mild surprise and, in Clint’s case, confusion. He was still walking respectfully behind the two royals, so that Thor had to turn his head to the side to speak with him, but Natasha could feel her friend’s questioning gaze upon her back. “He's the finest archer I have ever come across,” she clarified, giving the prince an earnest look. “And highly effective in both hand-to-hand combat and espionage.”

Thor looked at her placidly, as they walked astride. “I would imagine Clint is not the only one here who is proficient in the act of espionage, Princess. Think not that I cannot see you manufacturing emotions for me to read on your face.”

Natasha flinched in surprise at being so brazenly accused.

“I should be glad, I suppose,” Thor continued after a moment of awkward silence, not sounding the least bit upset. “That you did not simply break into my palace and steal the information you desire.”

He gave Natasha an arched eyebrow, and it startled a smile right onto her lips. 

Clint, too, was snickering from behind them.

She obligingly dropped the façade of the demure princess, and looked directly ahead as they walked on. “That was an option to us, Your Highness, but we both felt this would be the less time-consuming route.” Thor chuckled, and she was quick to add: “That is, at least, if you stop leading us around your palace in circles.”

The three of them drew to a halt next to an over-sized suit of armor they had already passed, and Prince Thor looked incongruously quite pleased with the entire affair. “Forgive me, Princess,” he said, hardly sounding contrite. “But I’m sure you understand – sometimes time is the far more effective betrayer of deception than any other means.”

“Was that the case with your brother?” Natasha challenged.

To her relief, Thor nodded somberly. “Loki is not the son of my father and mother by blood, but we were raised as siblings. His betrayal has opened a wound upon my heart I fear may never heal.”

“It may be that it never heals completely, Your Highness,” Clint said seriously from Natasha’s side. “But you must also be certain that the wound doesn't weaken you, nor fester and poison your blood.”

Thor looked at him curiously, a soft sort of pain in his eyes. “Who has betrayed you so, archer?”

“My brother,” Clint told them, his face contracted with old grief, and Natasha touched his arm in sympathy for a hurt she had not known of. Nor had she ever experienced it, for her most enduring beloved ones—Tony, Steve, and James—had never caused her such heartache. The mere thought of it was both ludicrous and inexplicably dreadful to contemplate.

“I suffer thy pain,” Thor said in the tone of a well-worn phrase, and extended his arm. Clint took his wrist in a tight grip and they nodded at each other once, with understanding, before dropping their hands. Then the prince turned to Natasha with a serious but open look upon his face. “What is it you believe my brother has done, Princess?”

Natasha leveled him with a piercing look. “We believe he may be responsible for an attack upon my lands four months gone. It was perpetrated by a formidable magic-user, resulting in eight deaths and as many injuries, some grievous.”

Thor went utterly pale. “I received word of the attack of which you speak, but I was not aware it was perpetrated by a magic user… you believe my brother to be responsible for the deaths of the noble Stark family?”

“For the deaths of King Howard and Queen Maria, yes, Your Highness, I'm afraid that is so,” Clint nodded.

“As for Prince Anthony,” Natasha said pointedly, when Thor drooped. “We believe your brother to be responsible for his disappearance.”

For a moment, Thor looked between her and Clint as though they were no longer speaking in a human tongue. Then, after a few moments of silence, he grew implausibly even paler with shock. “That cannot be,” he said softly, but he was clearly not addressing the pair before him. The words were directed inward, in horror and disbelief. “Has…” Thor swallowed and recovered some of his composure. “Has the prince not been confirmed dead?”

Clint shook his head. “He simply vanished. We have received no ransom demand, no communication of any kind. We have scoured the mountain many times over. There is no trail, and no remnant of him whatsoever.”

Thor’s eyes pressed closed.

“We simply wish to know if it is possible that your brother performed this attack, considering the fact that he's supposed to be imprisoned, currently, several furlongs beneath our feet,” Natasha said quietly, though firmly.

The prince did not open his eyes but folded his arms tightly over his chest. “It is possible,” he confirmed. “Loki escaped confinement over six months ago, and we have had no word of him since.”

They stayed in silence for a little while longer – then Thor seemed to gather himself up. His crossed arms became authoritative rather than injured, as he planted his feet solidly on the stone floor. “I believe you are correct about my brother’s involvement in the things you speak of,” he announced sternly.

Natasha felt an odd, rather inappropriate flash of triumph and satisfaction.

“As for why he may have targeted the Starks, I fear there may be little more at work than the fact that Prince… _King_ Anthony is your betrothed, Princess. Your kingdom is no small prize. Men have killed far more attempting to control far less than your lands.”

Natasha’s lips pressed into a thin line, while Clint was puffing up with anger and indignation at her side. After a moment, she cocked her head at Thor. “And yet he has asked no concessions of me. Why this extended silence?”

Thor said nothing for a little while, but he was clearly thinking. “Princess…” he said finally. “Would you say that Anthony is a man with great strength of character?”

Clint snorted outright, and Natasha slapped his arm with the back of her hand. “He is indeed,” she told Thor. “Tony is many things, but weak of spirit is never among them.”

Thor nodded, but he looked a little misgiving. “That is fortunate for you, Princess – for his strength of will is perhaps all that has kept him alive.”

“What do you know?” Clint demanded, bristling and taking an accusatory step towards the prince.

“I know my brother,” Thor snapped, now visibly upset. “And I know what he is capable of. If my brother wishes the throne of a kingdom, he will have to either do away with me or usurp it from another. Since he has already proven incapable of murdering me in cold blood, it seems he has set his sights on a new prize. There are many things he could do to King Anthony with his sorcerer’s abilities that would allow him to take Princess Natasha’s kingdom, whether by force or by treachery.”

He gave Natasha a meaningful look. “But many of these spells require the _willing_ participation of the other person – the mind is a thing magic struggles to touch, no matter the power of the wielder.”

Natasha and Clint both blinked at him as they absorbed that information.

“You believe then that Loki is keeping Tony prisoner,” Natasha clarified, to which Thor nodded. “Do you know where they may be?”

Thor sighed. “Sadly, I know not, Princess. I can say with some certainty that he is not in any of our family dwellings here, nor within any populated region of Asgard, but it is there that my information ends.”

Natasha nodded. They'd had no word of Tony having been taken through any port in her kingdom, no matter how small – which did not rule out sea travel entirely, but suggested that he was still within her borders. With Fury’s extensive fortifications and guards, a land escape was even less likely. She nodded again, turning to her host. “If I may, Prince Thor, I must send a missive to my ship. We have friends with us here in Asgard seeking information they need seek no longer.”

“Of course, Princess,” he inclined his head. “I am deeply sorry that I have no more information for you.”

“You have given us a great deal, Your Highness,” she demurred, bowing slightly in thanks. “And even if there was nothing else, you have given us renewed hope.”

Thor accepted this, and indicated for them to follow him as they retreated back through the palace towards the entrance.

“I do not wish to sully your hope, Princess,” he said, as they descended the stairs into the grand entryway once more. His voice had dropped low in deference to the numerous castle denizens now milling all around them. “But… I feel I should make myself quite clear. My brother does not appreciate loose ends being left upon his schemes. If he succeeds in extracting the willing compliance of your betrothed, it is unlikely that he will permit him to live.”

Natasha’s heart beat thrice in a single second, and she fought not to show the reaction upon her face. “I understand, Prince Thor. Perhaps we should simply return to our ship, in the interests of continuing our investigations with the utmost haste.”

“If you wish it, I will not attempt to convince you to stay,” the prince agreed. “I ask only that you wait for me to gather my possessions.”

She and Clint shot him surprised glances, and Thor’s jaw clenched. “If my brother is involved in this, I will do everything within my power to find him and return your betrothed to you, if I have to find Loki and drag him back to Asgard myself. And even if Loki is not the one you seek…”

He turned to give Natasha a rather rakish grin. “I have been hungry, of late, for a noble quest.”

 

## ♛

 

Tony did not know how long it had been. Months, certainly, but he did not know how many.

He was provided for largely by a man he soon learned was called Yinsen, whose wife and children were being held against him in some way by Loki – he did not give details, and Tony was not eager to ask.

Every few days, Loki would come by and taunt him. Tell him that nobody was looking for him—Tony did not believe that for a second—that everybody was moving on with their lives—that one might be true—or that nobody cared that he was missing – he hoped that one wasn’t true. Natasha, at least, would probably prefer him to anyone else she could be married to, and do her very best to track him down.

The story changed. Sometimes Loki told him that Bucky had been killed in the attack. After those days, Tony could hardly sleep for the pain in his heart. Other times, Bucky had survived the initial attack, but had not yet woken up. Sometimes he had woken up but with no memory of who he was. Sometimes he had lost an arm, sometimes a leg, sometimes two. Even knowing that Loki was playing obvious, vindictive games with him did not make it easier to bear. Tony dreamed of Bucky, his dear friend of so many years: mutilated somehow, blaming Tony for being weak and needing his protection in the first place.

He could never stand to think that Bucky was dead – it was too much, simply too much.

His only comfort these days was that he now at least knew what the Asgardian wanted with him, why he had gone to such lengths and caused such loss of life. The trouble was that the knowledge did not actually help him at all.

 _Magic_. Oh, how Tony hated magic.

Loki wanted his blood. For what purpose Tony could not say, but it hardly took a genius of his caliber to deduce that whatever Loki wanted his blood for would not be beneficial to anybody but the traitor himself. So he refused. Time and again, Tony refused. _I do not require much_ , the psychopath would soothe. _You would hardly even miss it_. And since Loki did honestly seem to require the blood given freely, of Tony’s own will, he kept asking as politely as he seemed to be able to manage. Tony was not sure at what point the bounds of _Magic_ decided that a certain amount of torture removed his ability to possess genuine free will, but Loki was not shying away from psychological torture, at least.

And then there were the transformations.

Every night, Tony returned to his human body. But every morning, as soon as the sun rose over the horizon, he turned back into a swan. The change was indeed painful every time, though the pure, incandescent, unbearable agony of the first time had not yet repeated itself. It had not escaped Tony’s notice that the change was significantly less intense when he was closer to the lake, and he did his best to be on the water when the sun set each day.

Being who he was, though, he thought he might lose his mind with boredom after the first week of captivity, and spent many of his days shut in the castle with its ancient, crumbling, but still readable library of tomes. Lacking opposable thumbs during the day meant he had to spend many of his nights making sure his reading material would be accessible to his swan body – especially if it rained during a new or waning moon, so that there was nowhere he could go to light a fire to read by at night. When he had tired himself of calculating the mathematics of his flight ability as a bird, and mentally designed at least a dozen different potential flying apparatuses he never intended to allow Clint anywhere near, he started scribbling down—in charcoal, on the least interesting pages of the books at his disposal—every design for around the castle he could think of. He found himself sketching out new bow designs or tiny wrist-sheathed darts, and determinedly refused to think that it was sheer obstinacy at this point that was keeping alive his faith that he would see the people they were designed for, even one more time.

There was one more room in the castle that was locked, and even with all the time he had Tony simply lacked the expertise to pick its ancient, complex lock. Without being able to access that last room, he had read every book, scroll, and carving in the place several times over, often losing himself in his escapism and only recalling his curse when the telltale fire started burning in his bones. Sometimes he would make it out to the water before the shift ended, sometimes he would not.

He was not too proud to admit that he had led a charmed life as a prince, sole heir to the throne of a small but very wealthy kingdom, and it was no exaggeration to say that never before in his life had he felt a pain even marginally approaching that of shifting between the two bodies.

Every time, every time the sun rose or set, the thought would enter his head. _Just give him the blood, this will end. This will be over_. But then he would remember that Loki could not be trusted – no, he was almost laughably untrustworthy, and Tony could not give in for fear of what would happen to those he loved if he did.

 

 

The sun was about to set, and Tony was preemptively floating upon the glimmering surface of the lake. It was, at least, a beautiful prison he had been given. The lake was enormous, large enough to host several different nests with ample space between them, and so had been taken up by a fair-sized colony of swans. Tony, naturally, was not welcome among them. Whenever he tried to go anywhere near any of the other birds, he was hissed and spat at, pecked at viciously, and even bludgeoned with surprisingly powerful wings. He took their message and stayed well away. Especially when the eggs arrived.

When his reading well and his faith had begun to run dry, Tony had started to explore his prison. He had, through agonizing weeks of trial and error, determined the boundaries of the castle grounds – whenever he stepped over them during the night, the pain came rushing in and he would be transformed into a bird no matter what time of day it was. He would not then transform back until the following evening. If he crossed during the day, the pain would come but with no accompanying transformation; this pain was soothed only by retreating to the lake and staying there for however many hours it took for the ache to recede once more.

Slowly—very slowly—but surely, he had created a comprehensive map in his own mind of the grounds, though he was not nearly familiar enough with Natasha’s kingdom to fathom where in it he might be. The only reason he was certain he _was_ still in her kingdom at all was the northern accent of his caretaker, Yinsen. He might have transplanted here, of course, but Tony could not bear to let go of his one certainty.

Yinsen was kind: tending to Tony as best he could if he ever found Tony transformed off of the lake, prostrate on the ground or curled in upon himself in the dregs of pain. He was intelligent, as well. A chemist of some sort, judging by his sparse stories.

Yinsen had been one of Tony’s only comforts. First Bucky, and now this. Tony knew full well that he was not worth the pain of so many people, and it was sometimes only the thought that he would not let their pain—the haunting horror of whatever misery Bucky had been put through or was still living with—be for nothing. He would not bow to Loki.

Not when Loki visited the castle sometimes in the morning, just to pin Tony to the ground within the castle walls and watch him writhe and scream as the sun rose.

Not when Loki told him that Steve had just married his dear childhood friend, Miss Sharon Carter, in the presence of all their friends and beloved.

Not when Loki told him that in the wake of Tony’s disappearance, Natasha had quickly married herself off to Loki’s brother Thor, crown prince of Asgard: a far superior match.

It was inevitable that he would try to escape, and he had to factor in that Loki would surely know that. Tony tried to to admit it even to himself, but Loki’s words did not disappear as soon as he said them – rather they embedded themselves in Tony’s mind, and the niggling doubts accumulated.

It had been months. Steve was not coming. Nobody was coming.

His escape attempt had been ill-fated from the start, he knew, but he had done it anyway. He only needed Yinsen’s help with one part. A map. Just a small piece of parchment. The brave, kind man had agreed to bring Tony the pivotal tool of his eventual escape, and the hope came flooding in despite the distance still left to go before freedom was his once more. He would still need to break the spell, of course, but at least he would know how far he had to travel, would be able to plan something, plan _anything_.

But Loki had discovered the map, somehow, before Tony even laid his hands on it.

And Yinsen…

Yinsen’s blood was going to be used to power a far more potent spell, Loki had snarled, seeming torn between fury and glee. Tony was reeling on the grass from the pain of the blow to the face he’d been dealt by Loki’s omnipresent scepter, stunned and dazed and barely able to process the body lying upon the ground beside him.

He faintly remembered Loki touching him with bloody fingers, tracing over his avian head, chest, and long neck, then muttering something darkly and aiming that terrible staff at him one more time.

The effects of the new spell were not at first evident. Tony remained a swan and, until the sun set, he panicked that he had simply been cursed to remain a swan forever.

But then along with the setting sun came the same pain of the first transformation, and he thought for the first time that he might have wished Loki had just cursed him to remain eternally winged. The pain did not end, this time. The transformation was stalled mid-way, pulsing agony flooding his body with no result. Once more, the lake was his only relief – dragging the horror of this transformation down to a dull roar throughout his body, and letting it follow through on its shape-shifting threat. But it was nothing like the spasming nightmare of remaining off the lake's surface.

Any remaining hope he had of engineering his own escape deflated in his chest, and he had to fight with everything he had not to give in to the despair.

 

## ✯

 

The air around them hummed with anticipation as each prepared for the imminent assault.

From near the front of the formation created by the five of them, Bucky blindly sought Steve’s shoulder and clamped his hand around it. Steve was perfectly still, coiled like a wild animal waiting to strike, itching to catch a glimpse or a scent or a whisper of Natasha’s return. She was not with them in the forest, waiting anxiously – for she was ahead of them, scouting out the ruins beyond.

It had been a long succession of weeks that Steve and his friends—with the unforgettable new addition of Thor—had been strategically combing the land around Natasha’s castle in ever-increasing rings. Now that they knew who they were looking for, now that they had an actual physical description of the man responsible for so much misery, their search was making strides. A simple sketch of Loki, done by Steve with Thor’s prompting, had been traced and posted in every major town in the kingdom, which had eventually drummed up a confirmed sighting not far from Kingstown. To Steve’s horror, it was less than a day’s ride from the castle. So terribly close, all along.

No further clues had appeared to them, however, so they had taken to simply searching every spot around Loki’s last known location that may have been of any value to a man with a prisoner. Meanwhile, they set about making Loki’s sneering face one of the most well-known sights in the land and the adjacent realms, attempting to cut him off at the ankles were he to attempt to simply relocate as they latched upon his trail.

This small castle they were encamped around was very old, and long-since abandoned. The large, gray stones of its walls were irregular but tightly and expertly packed together. If it had once had a roof, it had long since been lost to time. Its squat, square layout suggested it predated the Midgardian monarchy, and all around them in the woods were pieces of decimated structures and rings that indicated where the castle’s village would once have been.

There had been no sightings of anybody either entering or exiting the building in years aside from its occasional custodian. And it was the recent disappearance of that custodian from his hometown, the small hamlet of Gulmira, that had sent Steve and the others to this dilapidated structure.

The sun was only just beginning to rise, which was their preferred time to attack: giving them a light sufficient to see by, but one that was still strange and shifting enough to put enemies slightly off-kilter. The air was cold, the ground colder still, and even Thor in his great cloak was beginning to shiver the longer they waited.

“Come on, Nat,” Steve whispered roughly, as if she could hear him.

“No guards,” Natasha’s voice came suddenly from behind him, and it took an enormous effort not to spin around with a great clattering of armor and weaponry. The only person who didn’t startle was Clint.

“Like a deadly spider, is your princess,” Thor muttered to Bucky, who shrugged.

“That isn’t a good sign,” Clint muttered in response to Natasha’s report, as she slipped over to Steve’s shoulder and crouched between him and the archer.

“I would not be so certain,” Thor said quietly from the other side of Bucky, thumbing the leather-bound hilt of his warhammer. “My brother is well-known for his trickery.”

“So, spring traps,” Sam translated from Clint’s other side. “Perfect.”

“On alert,” Steve snapped to quiet them down. “Nat, recommendations?”

“Straight run across the meadow from here,” she whispered loud enough for everyone to hear, adjusting the strap of her belt. “No cover. If we’re expecting traps, one at a time is a good way to get picked off. The main door is heavy but rotted, and this style of castle tended to have wooden staircases to ascend and stone to descend.”

Steve nodded. “Thor, you lead. Take out the door. Pair up: Sam stays on guard with Thor outside. Sam, lake-side, Thor meadow. Nat with Clint, Bucky with me, looking for a dungeon or any locked chamber. If Tony’s being kept in there it’ll probably be underground. If Loki is in there, he is likely armed and deadly. Use necessary force. On my mark.”

At Steve’s signal, Thor leapt from the bushes they’d sheltered behind like a great wild boar, his powerful legs thundering beneath him across the dewy grass to the castle, with the others streaming in his wake. He reached the enormous main door of the structure and, hardly slowing, spun tightly on nimble feet and smashed his hammer through its decrepit wood. As Natasha had predicted, the door splintered instantly and Thor shouldered aside what remained of the frame just in time for Steve and Bucky to leap through into the castle, Natasha and Clint right behind them.

The castle was dim inside but light enough to see by as the weak sun poured over the walls. It was not a large structure, and the entry hall they found themselves in had three exit points on each of the other walls in the form of towering archways. Considering what they had seen of the layout from outside, Clint and Natasha ran for the archway at the far wall while Steve and Bucky steered right. They could see instantly that they had chosen the correct path. Right before them was a sharp turn to the left followed by a straight staircase down, which was not the best defensive design, but Steve deduced that this castle was so old it had been before the spiral staircase had come into standard use. Steve took the lead as they made their way down the stone steps, where the sunlight began to falter and darkness was creeping in all around.

Just before they reached the bottom of the staircase, Steve’s foot landed on a small pile of debris, perhaps from the crumbling walls, and his leg slipped suddenly forward. Bucky’s hand shot forward to grab him, his dagger pinched carefully between his thumb and forefinger, and stopped Steve from stumbling the last few steps down. He could not stop the echoing sound of the displaced rocks as they clattered before Steve onto the stone floor. Both men froze, going tense from head to toe as they listened intently. Just before Steve was about to raise a hand and indicate that they continue, Bucky’s fingers tightened on his shoulder and he flicked the knife to point to their left.

Then Steve heard it – a faint sound, metallic but loose, like chain links scraping together, and his breath caught.

He and Bucky headed in that direction as slowly as Steve could manage through his fog of expectation, checking through several open cell doors, before eventually they ended up in front of a closed one. The light was very dim here, but there was just enough to make out faint shapes, and their eyes were adjusting better every moment. Unlike the outer portal, this door looked very new and very sturdy, and a quick wrestle with the handle let Steve know that it was firmly locked.

The racket he made also made someone call out from within.

“Who’s there?” came a low, raspy voice.

Steve felt like he’d been pushed into a trough of water, relief almost sticking his voice in his throat. “Tony? It’s… it’s me, it’s Steve.”

There was a long pause, and then, “ _Steve_.”

“It’s me,” Steve said hoarsely. “We’re here, we’re gonna get you out.”

“Hurry,” Tony pleaded, sounding closer but not like he was on the other side of the door. “He could be back any time, he’s always here after the sun rises.”

Steve and Bucky took turns trying their luck on the iron lock, but there was no reasoning with it. Eventually, Steve hissed with frustration and turned hard eyes on Bucky. “Bring Nat. Quickly.”

As unhappy as Bucky looked about leaving Steve here alone, he nodded and shot back the way they had come, boots slapping urgently on the flagstones.

“Almost there, Tony,” Steve called through the door, pressing his hand against the wooden panels. “We’re going to get you out, just hold on.”

“Steve…” Tony said, and the weakness of his voice made Steve’s teeth clench.

“Just hold on, Tony…”

Quick, light footsteps announced Natasha’s arrival, and she shoved Steve unceremoniously out of her way before whipping out the lock-picking kit she carried on her thigh and set to work. Steve didn’t know how long it took, but it felt like an hour before the lock clunked obligingly and the door swept open.

This time it was Steve that all but pushed Natasha out of his way as he barreled into the room. Across from the door, chained to a ring on the wall by his left wrist, was a man Steve only recognized to be Tony because he had known the man for such a very long time. After almost seven months of captivity, the bright warmth of the sun had faded from his skin, the flush of health from his cheeks, and his hair and beard were long and unkempt. He was dirty, obviously malnourished, and the most wonderful sight Steve had ever seen.

“ _Tony_ ,” he breathed, before launching forward to lay his hands on Tony’s shoulders. He ran his fingers along Tony’s ribs, from his protruding collarbones to his neck, then up to his gaunt face, trying to convince himself that the moment he had been dreaming of for so many months had finally arrived.

For his part, Tony was looking up at Steve in almost equal disbelief, as though Steve could not possibly be real. The chain rattled as Tony brought his hands up to Steve’s chest, pressing against the muscle as if to rest before continuing up to his face. He had one hand on each of Steve’s cheeks, and his brown eyes were dull, as if he hardly even recognized the man before him.

“You’re here,” he said finally, sounding strangled. “You’re really here?”

Steve gathered Tony’s hands up in his and pressed them tightly to his mouth. “I’m here. We’ve been searching for you for months, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry it took so long – I’m so sorry I said—”

“It doesn’t matter,” Tony cut him off. “It doesn’t matter now.”

“Tony?” came Bucky’s voice from behind them, oddly tentative, and Tony curved around Steve’s shoulder to look at him, his eyes widening. He didn’t say a word, just stared at Bucky, then at Natasha, and Clint, who was half hovering nervously in the doorway and half glancing at Tony as if he could scarcely believe his eyes.

Soon enough, though, Tony returned his gaze to Steve, who was still feverishly clutching his hands. “Steve,” he said roughly. “Please take me home.”

 

## ✯

 

Thor and Clint switched places so that Clint was up keeping a look out with Sam, while Thor was down in the dungeon using his mighty warhammer to break apart Tony’s chains. The welded shackle would have to wait until they were in the village or, preferably, home in Kingstown, but that would be up to Tony whether he wanted it off now or after he got home.

It was therefore Clint’s horrified warning bellow they all heard while Natasha and Tony were sharing a long embrace.

Thor was the first to leap to his feet and sprint out of the room, followed swiftly by Steve and Bucky while Natasha remained behind with Tony, daggers drawn. By the time the knight and his friend reached the main hall, they were greeted with the impressive sight of Thor gripping a struggling, dark-robed figure in a chokehold, while Clint was aiming an arrow at the pair from a cautious distance, and Sam was holding a tall, glowing golden scepter as far away from his person as he possibly could.

The floor and one of the walls of the great chamber were marred with a black, charred mark with the faintest lines of a rune visible within it.

When they got closer, it became clear—if it hadn’t been before—that Thor’s captive was his magical snake of a brother, who was already wheedling and squirming and trying to placate the prince, even as Thor shouted furiously down at him.

“—How could you, brother?” Thor hollered right in Loki’s ear. “Are you truly so lost? Have you truly fallen so far into this madness?”

“Thor,” Steve barked, at which Thor paused to glare up at him, and Loki twisted almost comically in the larger man’s grip to do the same.

“Well,” the traitor smirked. “If it isn’t Anthony’s knight in shining armor.” He glanced briefly at Bucky. “And the half-knight.”

Steve’s jaw screwed tight as he saw Bucky stiffen at his shoulder. “Can he escape?”

“Not without his scepter,” Thor grunted, twisting his brother into an even more uncomfortable-looking position in his arms. “Once we have placed him in the runed shackles he will certainly be unable.”

“So little faith, _oh mighty prince_ ,” Loki sneered.

Sam was peering dubiously at him. “What about everything they found in the back room?”

“What was in the back room?” Steve asked, startled.

Clint gave Steve an incredulous look. “Do I look like a sorcerer? The only thing I recognized was notebooks—and jars I wouldn’t touch if you paid me in gold bullion—and more notebooks.”

“Buck—”

“On it,” Bucky mumbled, shooting Loki a venomous glare before striding behind Steve to the back of the cavernous, roofless hall.

“Do we want to take that with us?” Steve looked apprehensively at the scepter in Sam’s outstretched hand.

“It would be unwise to leave it here,” Thor admitted. “I know not what it might do if touched with bare flesh.”

“ _Now_ you say this?” Sam barked, alarmed. Thor spared a moment to look up at him with a crooked grin, while Loki rolled his eyes (pretty haughtily, for someone who was beginning to turn pink from the forearm pressed against his throat).

Clint narrowed his eyes at Thor while Sam scoffed. “You bridge troll.”

Steve sighed. “Clint, go get the horses and bring them near. I don’t think Tony’s going to be up for much of a walk.”

After a moment spent considering Loki—or, perhaps, considering putting an arrow through his throat—Clint nodded and took off out of the splintered remains of the door without so much as a backwards glance.

“You should accompany him, Sir Steven,” Thor noted, giving his brother a rattling shake, which made him hiss like a disgruntled viper. “I have Loki under control.”

Steve nodded, gave the kidnapping murderer a stony look, then followed after Clint.

However, he did not make it far from the front door. Around the other side of the castle, where a lake sprawled between the ancient building and the clearing where they had secreted their mounts, Clint was staggering sideways across the dirt path while shouting and cursing vehemently – at the large mute swan that was viciously attacking his boot.

“Accursed—” He gave his leg a violent jerk. “—beast! What are you _doing_? _Why_?”

Despite everything, Steve found himself shrinking back around the corner and peering out to spy on the scene, his hand pressed over his mouth, trying to keep in a laugh. The swan was alternately pecking at Clint’s stomach, pulling at his boot, and honking at him urgently.

“I’m nowhere near the lake!” Clint snarled at it, kicking at it periodically without actually trying to hurt it. “I’m not in your territory! Leave me alone!”

The swan hissed at him and dove in to peck at the crook of his knee.

“That’s it!” Clint yelled, reaching behind him for his bow and then nocking an arrow. “Back off, you stupid bird.”

When he leveled the arrowhead at the swan’s chest, the animal seemed to realize the danger it was in quite quickly and began to back away, though it was still flapping its wings and hissing.

“Yeah, yeah, you just back away, go on,” Clint crowed, keeping the arrow trained on the swan as it retreated, then beginning to inch forwards, driving it back towards the lake. “Don’t give me that offended look – _you_ attacked _me_!”

Steve smiled almost against his will at the sight of the feared archer heroically facing off against an agitated bird. Clint forced it back onto the lake, where it flapped in what seemed to be surprise, and then suddenly subsided, looking up at Clint and letting out one last petulant honk.

Satisfied, Clint nodded and swung his bow up onto his back with a playful spin. He pointed an accusatory finger at the bird. “And don’t you try anything once my back is turned.”

As though it understood, the swan’s head fell slightly and it began to drift back from the shore. It stared at Clint for a long time, letting out an oddly mournful noise, its wings drooping as the fight evidently left it, and eventually it turned and swam out into the middle of the lake, then round the bend where it was hidden by the rushes. Steve watched it go curiously, wondering what Clint could possibly have done to anger it so, before rounding the corner and jogging to catch up with his friend.

“You sure showed that swan, you big hero,” he smirked once he was within hearing range, buoyed by finding Tony – finally, _finally_ being able to take him home, hold him in his arms, and know for _certain_ that he was alive and whole. Clint’s showdown with the waterfowl certainly hadn’t hurt his mood.

Clint gave him a rude gesture and didn’t stop stomping.

 

## ✯

 

Had Steve had his way, Tony would not have left his sight for weeks after his return. Since Steve was not, unfortunately, even remotely the highest-ranking person interested in Tony’s rescue, he had very little say in the following events.

Tony was quiet on the ride home. He spent the trip seated upon Liberty’s back, since she was the horse he knew best. She was also officially Steve’s now that he had purchased her from Sir Alexander, and Steve trusted her with Tony, and her alone. Steve alternated with the others walking the way back, though it slowed their pace considerably. The one-day trip took them two days to complete anyway, as Tony’s malnourishment and general ill health did not lend itself particularly well to extended periods upon horseback.

The quiet was not unexpected, though it was of course unwelcome. For over half a year, Steve had fallen asleep with the memory of Tony’s voice in his mind, and woken with it upon the cusp of his dreams; to lack it now was more painful than he would have expected. But Tony spoke sparingly, even haltingly – and that was perhaps worse than the silences. He seemed disconnected from the rest of them, as if he did not know how to respond to their questions or their jokes. As if they were strangers to him. He seemed confused when Sam tried to talk to him about Redwing’s healing leg, and downright startled when Clint performed one of his classic gymnastic tricks upon his long-suffering gelding’s back. Steve certainly had very little by way of comparison, but he could not have imagined that even seven months would have eroded Tony’s memory so drastically.

Which meant there had been more to his imprisonment than just what they had seen – the thought made him grind his teeth in fury.

Clint’s admittedly tasteless jokes seemed to make Tony more uncomfortable than they ever had before, and the sharp wit they had grown to expect from the man seemed to have vanished beneath an odd stretch of uncertainty. Even Sam’s gentle solicitousness appeared to unnerve Tony to an extent, and his comfort and reassurance seemed to fall upon stone ears. The overwhelming presence of Thor, who really _was_ a stranger to Tony, produced much the same reaction as the others, and thus Thor had taken to keeping a secure distance out of deference to Tony’s unease. Eventually, Thor left their party entirely and pulled on ahead of them with Loki tethered to his saddle, whining heartily as they trekked back towards Kingstown at speed.

But more than all these, Steve could not not decide which was the more painful: watching Tony with Natasha, or watching him with Bucky.

The ease of so many years of friendship laying smooth and deeply fond between him and Natasha – that seemed to have all but disappeared. Tony drew away sharply when she attempted to kiss his cheek upon their departure the second day, and seemed genuinely unnerved, even _afraid_ when she settled down on the first evening to sharpen her knives. Natasha’s mood plummeted in response, though to her credit she did grit her teeth, alter her behaviors, and continue to solicit Tony as and when she could.

And Bucky, who had been frantic and almost vicious up until now in their search for Tony, was met with Tony’s cool reactions and uncaring looks. Tony did not ask after Bucky’s arm, which—while from anyone else would have seemed polite and accepting—ended up feeling more as though Tony barely noticed its loss, nor particularly cared. Taking it as a sign that all his fears about Tony blaming him for his parents’ deaths had been true, Bucky had retreated into the mere shell of himself he had been for months after waking up following the attack. His setback only compounded Steve’s pain and anger, not directed at Tony, and hardly even directed at Loki, but rather just bubbling inside him and desperate for release.

Steve had to remind himself almost daily that this was still the man he loved, and that his resolutions upon Tony’s loss were not to be negated by the trauma he had suffered while in captivity. Even in the face of Tony’s new, pervasive indifference to all of them—even Steve, even _Natasha_ —he was still the same person. Tony was far too strong and self-possessed to be undone by something such as this. Each time the thought faltered, Steve simply had to shore it up more determinedly.

Tony’s return, naturally, caused a great excitement in both Natasha’s kingdom and his own, and all of the realms joined in the jubilation over the prince coming back from the dead. Lord Fury, as practical and almost callous as always, demanded that Tony and Natasha be married immediately, and after long, quite ugly _discussions_ with Lord Stane, it was agreed upon. Despite his general lack of interest or apparent investment in the life they had once led together, Tony himself was also quite insistent on marrying Natasha as soon as possible. Steve would not be surprised if Tony was concerned, like Lord Fury, that he might disappear again if not safely tied to the princess in marriage, and after so many years there really was no logical reason to wait.

So it was that wedding preparations commenced apace, just a few weeks in advance, though Lord Fury argued fiercely for more speed. Lord Stane would not hear of it, and insisted that Tony be permitted to enter his care and recover in his own home. Natasha put her foot down at that – arguing that Tony had always been comfortable in her castle and that there was no reason to add the strain of the trip by sea to his harrowing experience, especially when he would only have to turn around and return for the wedding. Tony seemed not to have much of an opinion either way.

As something of a compromise (though it was obviously benefiting Stane far less than anyone else, but Natasha and Lord Fury were clever that way), the Lady Potts was sent to live in Natasha’s castle and keep watch over Tony. His old friend was devastated with relief, and her prim and controlled façade showed deep cracks when she first laid eyes upon Tony in his guest bed. Tony was little more moved by Pepper than he had been by any of his other friends, which was at once a relief and a great disappointment. Steve had hoped that it was not simply him and their group of friends here that Tony took issue with. Perhaps—as Bucky was convinced—he really did blame them for his capture in the first place. But whatever the case, there was no real joy to be found in his blank expression upon greeting the misty-eyed Lady Pepper.

“This is not like him,” Pepper insisted, even as the others tried their own self-reassuring arguments on her.

That Tony had been through a terrible experience. That he needed time to process what had happened to him. That all they needed was time, just time.

Pepper was adamant. “He was not like this when returning from the pirates,” she said firmly. “And they… He was happy. He was different, he was not… unaffected, but he was happy to be home. This is…” She shook her head. “This is not like him.”

Natasha tried her hand one more time, being very fond of Pepper even though objectively they had only really spent the one summer together, many years earlier.

But Pepper simply would not have it, no matter who the reassurances came from. “Loki has done something to him. Something more than we know.”

And though all reason told Steve that Pepper was simply fabricating stories for herself to better cope with the fear that the Tony she had loved had not returned, truly, from his captivity… as the days went on, Steve began to find himself falling more willingly into her opinion.

Steve had been prepared for any manner of greeting by Tony after their disastrous farewell. He had anticipated anger, coldness, relief – and in his weaker, more hopeful, besotted moments, he thought that perhaps Tony would be overjoyed that Steve wished to move on from their longstanding past of denying their feelings for each other. He had often imagined greeting Tony with a kiss: a kiss like those they shared in front of the fireplace, kisses that escaped reason and robbed him of breath and thought. Even on the ride back home, he imagined sitting upon the bed with Tony as he convalesced, eating proper meals and resting and recovering his strength. He imagined curling over Tony’s thighs and just feeling his body present and warm beneath Steve’s, or holding him close with his hand over Tony’s heart, feeling it beating alive.

Instead, there was nothing in Tony’s gaze when he looked at Steve. A slight wariness, that pervasive uncertainty, and not even a flicker of the bright affection that he had once spilled between them every time their eyes met. Steve found himself wondering how much someone had to change before they really could be considered a different person. He wondered if Tony had come back without the love he'd once had, without those relationships, without his joy, without his fire… if that was the case, was he even still Tony at all?

He chased those thoughts back, because they were selfish and useless, and there were more important things to worry about than his heartbreak.

Loki was interrogated ferociously by everyone from Lord Fury to the unassuming but somehow quite frightening chamberlain, Coulson, who came the closest to cracking the disgraced prince. From him they learned the key to deciphering the code of the journals they had retrieved from the back room at the castle where Tony had been kept, the one Natasha had broken into, and the notes were set upon rabidly by everyone who could read, seeking any information about what had been done to Tony.

Pepper, as the champion of the theory that Loki had somehow altered or damaged Tony’s mind, was one of their most dedicated code-breakers. She was also in constant communication with Tony’s friend Rhodes, who was far afield defending Menahahte from the increasing attacks from their neighbors. Stane’s leadership, it seemed, left much to be desired, and it had been the rare month recently that some foreign land was not snapping at the kingdom’s gates, testing its new regent or simply bolstered by the death of its brilliant king.

Eventually, King Odin of Asgard lost his patience with Lord Fury, and demanded that Loki be returned to face Asgardian justice. With little in the way of alternate arguments or options, Lord Fury conceded, and Loki was shipped back once more to the realm he had fled. Nobody was pleased with this development, least of all Loki himself, who protested vehemently each step of the way to the ship – and presumably the entire journey over there as well. Thor vacillated for a long while over whether or not he should leave to escort his brother, though in the end he decided to stay in Natasha’s kingdom at least until the wedding, since he was the only person they knew with any understanding of magic to help with Loki’s notes.

A few days after Loki’s departure with a full guard of Natasha’s knights, Steve found himself standing uncertainly outside the door to Tony’s rooms, his arms folded protectively over his stomach. There was a distinct bittersweet feeling to seeing Tony these days, as the hope of him returning to how he had once been died a little more every day, and the reality of what he had become when taken from them became harder and harder to ignore.

Steve breathed in deeply, and cautioned himself not to give up hope. Not to give up on Tony. As soon as he did that… the man he loved would truly be lost to him.

He pushed open the door when his knock yielded an invitation to enter, and he quickly saw Tony sitting upon the wide windowsill with a book in his hands. “Good evening, Tony,” he greeted, walking over and folding his wrists behind his back. “What are you reading?”

“Oh,” Tony said, peering cautiously up at Steve and then setting the thin book aside on the sill. “Nothing much. What can I do for you?”

“I just came to talk to you,” Steve replied with a sad attempt at a grin. “Want to go to the drawing room?”

“Oh, uh,” Tony’s eyes flitted from Steve to the door to the stone floor and back again. “Sounds… sure, the drawing room, yes. Let’s…” He sprung to his feet, and Steve quickly looked him over, noting that he was slowly gaining back the weight he had lost, but that he still did not look much less sickly than before. His eyes still lacked the solidity they had had prior to his kidnapping, their bracing fire, and his mouth lacked the self-assured curl. Upon his return, he had completely shaved his face and Steve, oddly, found that he missed the elaborate beard Tony had been working on for the past few years.

Tony started for the door, then reeled to a stop and looked back at Steve. “Why don’t you lead the way, big guy?”

Steve obligingly took the lead, and fought down the insistence of his heart that he take Tony’s hand. He wanted to thread his fingers through Tony’s and feel their distinctive patterns of callouses from his work in the forge, and in the mystical Workshop he spoke of in his home castle. He wanted to lift that hand to his mouth and kiss each of its knuckles, the pads of Tony’s fingers, the center of his palm; press his lips to the pulse point on the inside of Tony’s wrist and see if the skin there was as soft as it had always looked.

He did none of those things, simply leading Tony down in silence to the drawing room.

“Isn’t this nice?” Tony said when they entered the room, spinning around and looking at everything like he’d never seen it before. He collapsed on Clint’s couch and closed his eyes with a sigh, while Steve frowned and walked over to the low chaise Tony normally used and ran a hand along the deep blue fabric of the backrest.

“I haven’t been in here since that night,” Steve admitted, looking wanly over to the harpsichord.

“Night? Uh – right, that night. With the… yeah,” Tony muttered, glancing at Steve and awkwardly away again, which hurt more than Steve would have thought it could.

He had tried not to think of this possibility, as part of his refusal to give up on Tony. Somewhere along the way, giving up on his relationship with Tony had become tantamount to admitting Tony was gone forever, and even now he struggled to even contemplate it. Was it possible that he had truly lost his chance with Tony? That after years upon years of being together but still so separate, years of Tony making no secret of his feelings for Steve while Steve was foolish and fearful and distant, that now that Steve was finally able and willing to admit that he had fallen desperately in love with another man, a betrothed prince, no less – _now_ Tony no longer wanted him?

“Tony,” Steve said softly. “I didn’t want to… rush you or, make you uncomfortable, but…” He rounded the second couch and lowered himself to sit on the floor beside the one Tony had claimed. “I missed you.” The words felt choked, sticking in his throat not with reluctance, but with sheer importance.

He had never admitted his feelings to Tony aloud. He had never had the courage. Now he refused to lose the chance to cowardice. He had spent enough years in that particular prison.

“I missed you,” he said again, his hand darting out and grabbing at the fabric of Tony’s buttoned jacket. “And I promised myself that if I got you back, if the stars looked so kindly upon us, I would not let it go any longer. I… you deserve more than that.”

Tony, splayed out on his back on the couch, was staring sideways at him in what looked like utter shock. Once Steve stopped speaking, Tony got his elbows beneath him and pushed himself up into a sitting position, but not once breaking eye contact with Steve.

“Well, that’s…” Tony began, wide-eyed. “That’s… that certainly makes things… you _love_ – me?”

Steve’s stomach clenched, but he refused to be afraid and nodded determinedly, returning Tony’s gaze. It was Tony who dragged his eyes away after a long moment, looking down at his lap, then bringing up a hand and pressing it forcefully against his own chest.

“Say it,” he insisted. “Say you love me, Rogers.”

Steve would say so much more than that, but if Tony needed to hear it, after all these years, it was the very least of what he deserved after all Steve’s cowardice. So he rose up onto his knees, his face almost level with Tony’s where he sat upon the couch, and he summoned every scrap of feeling he had for the brave, beautiful man looking at him with a sort of disbelieving expectation.

“I love you,” Steve said solemnly, saying the words like he would say a vow. His hands came up and wrapped themselves around the one Tony had resting upon his own knee. “Tony, I do. I love you.”

A frisson went through the air – a spark of excitement and expectation, and for a moment Steve could not tell whether it originated with him or with the man sitting stock-still on the couch before him. Tony looked down, rubbed his hand across his chest, his entire body bunching with nerves…

… And then his face fell. Steve’s heart beat double for one short moment as disappointment and confusion flooded Tony’s expression. The hand held between his felt suddenly cold, and the comfort Steve had been drawing from the contact disappeared in an instant. It was no matter, as Tony wrenched his hand away a moment later anyway. As Steve stayed frozen in place on his knees, Tony jumped up and strode away, freezing, muttering something to himself, then patting his hands frantically down his front.

Eventually, after Steve’s stomach had almost completely finished crumbling into ash, Tony spun around and stared at Steve like he had failed some secret test.

“I don’t understand,” Tony said, plaintively. “Are you… are you lying?”

Cold horror washed down Steve’s spine, and he stumbled to his feet. “No! Tony, no, I would never—”

“You must be!” Tony snapped, giving Steve a look of disgust. “Why else—” He cut himself off abruptly, before putting his hands on his hips and fixing Steve with a deeply unnerving stare. “That is sad, Rogers. Falling for a _man_ and not even doing that right.” He shook his head softly, like he hadn’t just dealt Steve a mortal blow to the heart. “No wonder nothing ever happened, here.”

Through the building emotions in his gut, Steve realized he needed to leave the room immediately, and without another word to Tony he turned and did so. He could not decide whether it was fury, fear, agony, something he could not name, or a combination of them all that was roaring through his body like it needed to come out as a punch.

Pepper was right. Something was very wrong with Tony.

Even with there still being a chance that Steve was refusing to acknowledge Tony’s new behavior as the new Tony, he found himself convinced that Pepper was correct, and that the man he had just spoken to was not the Tony he had known. There had never been cruelty in Tony’s heart, and after even the short-lived passion of their last night together, there was really no arguing that Tony did not feel attraction to Steve.

But he was acting like he did not remember that night.

He was acting like he barely remembered who Steve was.

Was it possible Loki had erased his memory, and Tony was simply too afraid or too clever to let on that he was surrounded by strangers and terrified for what a turn his life had taken?

Or, perhaps worse – had Loki implanted false memories in his mind? Was that even possible?

Steve collapsed against a wall in a corridor he barely recognized through hazy vision. What if Loki had done something far more terrible to Tony than chaining him up in a basement and leaving him there alone for months? What if they had been ignoring the signs of a severe magical tampering with Tony’s mind for _weeks_ in the misguided belief that it would simply right itself? He should have listened to Pepper – she was rational, she was smart, and she was by no means prone to spurious accusations and wild theorizing. If she said there was something wrong with Tony, he should have believed her. And no matter how much Steve loved Tony, Pepper had simply known him longer, probably even known him better, and, and… how could they have been so foolish?

There was something wrong with Tony, and Steve knew exactly who he needed on his side to help figure out what it was.

 

## ✯

 

Pepper reacted with nothing so much as incandescent relief when Steve surreptitiously drew her back into her quarters the next day just after the morning meal, and told her that he thought she was right about Tony.

“What changed your mind?” she asked a little suspiciously, unwilling to let him go without questioning even through her obvious excitement that someone might finally agree with her.

“He—” Steve was unsure how much he could tell her. It was possible Pepper knew that Tony shared his inclinations towards either sex, but that was not an assumption he was at all willing to make blindly, not even to Pepper. “He doesn’t remember things, events that he should. He’s saying things… he’s just…” He struggled for a moment for the right word.

“Wrong,” Pepper supplied, and he nodded reluctantly. “Oh, Steve,” she said in a rush, grabbing his hand. “I cannot tell you how good it is to hear this. I thought perhaps I… but you’re right. The man in Tony’s room is not the man I have known for fifteen years, but I don’t know…”

“What exactly the problem is,” Steve finished for her, and she tipped her head slightly in agreement. “But what is there to do? The wedding is in less than a week’s time, and we can hardly accuse Loki or _anyone_ of something we do not know of.”

Pepper frowned at him, then squeezed the hand she still held. “This is not my home, these are not my people. I am not willing to risk Tony’s safety no matter what feelings I may have about his behavior.”

“Tony will be in no danger,” Steve assured her, wresting his hand from her grip so that he could retake her small hands between his own. “Natasha would never allow him to be hurt.”

For a moment, Pepper visibly struggled with herself, obviously wanting to believe him but feeling nonetheless wary. “We must find out if the problem is with his memory or… something else.”

Steve nodded his agreement. “You want to test him. Publicly.”

“With witnesses,” she corrected. “Natasha, at the very least. I know she wishes to believe me, but she needs proof.”

“Lord Fury?” Steve asked, cautiously. Her face fell instantly, and that was enough of an answer for him. “Our friends, then,” he amended. “At dinner, tonight.”

She nodded. “Very well.”

Steve hesitated, glancing down at their joined hands – it was strange to take such comfort from her as this, though he supposed she took comfort from his touch in return. They had only met once as children, spent but a few weeks together now, but still he felt that he knew her better than he should. Perhaps it was their shared loyalty to and love for Tony that tightened their bond. He hoped that they could retain a friendship even after this terrible situation was dealt with, but for now he allowed himself the simple reassurance of her thin hands and strong grip.

“How will you test him?”

She smiled wanly up at him. “I’m sure I’ll think of something.”

The day went by at a loathsome crawl for Steve, and after his discussion with Pepper he decided he could not stand to be in Tony’s company for one more moment not knowing what was wrong with him. He was also willing to admit, if only in the privacy of his own mind, that he had been hurt deeply by Tony’s rejection the day before, and felt echoes of that pain every time even the mere thought of Tony came up. So he trained with the other knights as usual, though with the noteworthy (and somewhat humbling) addition of Thor, and then the two of them lunched with Sam as they always did upon the fields. Though the foreign prince sat and heartily enjoyed the small meal with them, today Bucky did not join in as he was normally wont to do.

Steve felt a sick rush of guilt when he thought of his friend. With his mind consumed by the question of Tony’s return and strange behavior, Steve had scarcely given himself time to worry over Bucky since their arrival. He hoped that Natasha and the others were seeing to his wellbeing, but he realized with a flood of shame that he did not know how his friend was faring. The last he had spoken to Bucky was the handful of tense words they had exchanged as they approached the castle several weeks ago. Bucky had clearly been avoiding Tony since then and, almost by extension, Steve himself. He must have therefore been spending the past several weeks upset about his role in Tony’s disappearance, blaming himself – and Steve had not been there for him.

He froze with a morsel of cheese partway to his mouth when he realized this, and Sam was instantly concerned. Steve brushed away his friend’s worry as best he could, but when the overly perceptive Sam refused to let the moment drop, even with Thor sitting right there, Steve gave him the only piece of reassurance he could. “After tonight,” he said. After tonight, hopefully things would change for the better around the castle. Steve would make an effort with Bucky, who still needed him. Not to mention how badly Steve found himself needing his friend, too.

And Tony – well, Steve did not know what would happen with Tony. He could hardly stand to think on the matter.

As a result of this cryptic warning, Sam was about as tense as Steve and Pepper were as they all convened in Natasha’s dining chamber that evening, as per their custom, and he did not even have the luxury of a basic idea what was to happen. Bucky had begged off of this meal as well, as he had been doing more and more frequently, Steve now realized. Steve met Pepper’s eye as they seated themselves down the table from each other, and she gave him a placid look.

It seemed as though she had found her iron core once again, and her confidence sent a whisper of calm through Steve for the first time all day.

The meal was subdued, but that was also becoming expected. Part of the problem was that Tony was usually the spring of their good humor, or at least the thread tying them all together. He was no longer either. Even with Thor’s exuberant contributions, their conversation floundered in uncertainty more often than not. And furthermore, Tony was actually responding in ways very unlike his usual self: he laughed at the wrong jokes, responded to the wrong people, and threw everything off-balance throughout the meal, to the point where it became impossible to overlook.

“—finally argued Sitwell into submission,” Natasha was saying over their dessert of warm, roasted pears and crisp grapes.

Tony laughed. “I can hardly believe that man was arguing for a cartouche at all,” he chortled. “How very primeval. A lozenge would be a far better choice for the arms of a lady of your stature, am I right?”

Natasha froze mid-chew for an infinitesimal moment before resuming as if nothing was amiss, while Pepper glanced at Steve and Clint and Sam outright gaped at Tony.

“As you say,” Pepper said into the brief, lost silence. She glanced down at her plate, then up at Tony sitting across from her with a little smile. “I find I am quite tired this evening. I think I will retire early, if it does not displease you, Princess.”

Natasha gave her a piercing look, then darted her eyes to the man beside her for a split second in comprehension. “Not at all. Enjoy your rest.”

Pepper nodded amiably, then rose to her feet. Steve, Thor, Sam, and Clint rose with her, and Tony stumbled up a moment too late. “Goodnight,” Pepper said to the other four men as a whole, then turned to Tony. “Will that be all, Prince Stark?”

“Sure will, Pepper,” he grinned. “Sleep well.”

Steve went stiff. He did his best not to let it show, and Natasha very quickly distracted Tony from his reaction—not to mention Sam and Clint’s horror-struck faces—by spilling what was left of her wine on his shoes. As she and Tony puttered about mopping up the mess, with Tony far more upset by the spill than he really should have been, Steve’s mind raced.

He wondered for a moment if he should not try to get Pepper and even the others to safety – but Tony did not seem to present an immediate danger to anyone. In fact, he seemed far more harmless now than his usual self. Than he should be. Than he was. Steve had wondered before how much a person had to change before they became in effect someone else, but now he was beginning to wonder if that had not been thinking far enough. Tony appeared to know who each of them were, knew their names, knew plenty of information about them – but did not know how to talk to them. And they all knew, in the form of a well-worn joke, that Pepper and Tony’s farewell exchange had been the same since they were very small children. There was no way Tony knew who Pepper was but did not know the correct response to that phrase.

While Steve lost himself in frantic thought, Tony… _Tony_ excused himself to his chambers to change clothes and retire for the night, and everyone else was left in an odd, floating moment of shock.

“What the hell?” Clint barked, looking between Steve and the two women frantically. “What is his problem?”

Thor looked very confused at the entire debacle, turning to Steve beside him with raised eyebrows. “Is something the matter with Prince Tony?”

“That is not Tony,” Pepper said firmly into the silence, and for once nobody bothered to contradict her.

Natasha folded her arms over her stomach. “No, I do not think it is.”

“I—I beg your pardon?” Thor almost choked, his eyes darting between them all in surprise.

At his side, Sam’s eyes were as wide as their forgotten dinner plates, looking from the ghostly white Pepper to Natasha’s self-defensive stance to Steve’s utter stillness. “You knew?”

“We suspected,” Pepper said, giving him a quelling look. “Surely you also knew something was amiss.”

“Sure,” Clint interrupted. “But you actually think that man we just ate with is _not actually Tony Stark_?”

Pepper pressed her lips together. “Do _you_?”

Clint had no answer for that, for either option seemed equally absurd. He threw his hands in the air helplessly. “Who else could it possibly be?”

Abruptly, Thor sat back down on the bench with a heavy thump. “That cannot be.”

Natasha looked to him piercingly, taking her seat as well and indicating that the others do the same. “Thor?” she prodded, as Sam darted over to shut and bolt the door to the dining room. “Is that possible?”

“It is possible,” Thor nodded, then swallowed. “There are many ways to create the false appearance of another person. The easiest would be a simple magical disguise, a veneer of some sort.”

Clint shuddered. “You mean, that man we just had dinner with, who I’ve gone riding with multiple times, who I let work on my armor the other day, who I let work on my _bow_ the other day – that could be someone else _enchanted_ to look like Tony?”

“It could very well be,” Thor agreed solemnly, and Clint swore viciously and turned to look at Sam as the other man retook his seat. “This is madness. Is this not madness?”

Steve swallowed. A new ache took up residence in his stomach, and he felt he might be sick. “If that isn’t Tony—”

“—Then where is he?” Pepper finished harshly.

“If Loki enchanted someone else to look like Tony,” Sam conjectured, tapping his fingers on the tabletop. “Could he have also enchanted Tony to look like someone else?”

Clint swore again. “If he has, how will we ever find him?”

But Natasha was shaking her head. “No matter what he looked like, Tony would come find us if he were able. You think he would let something like a magical disguise stop him from coming here and trying to convince us of his identity?”

No, they all had to concede, Tony most certainly would not.

Pepper blanched. “That means he is not able to come to us. What if Loki has done something else to him? … What if he has stolen his memory, and that is why he has not sought us out?”

“I doubt even my brother has the power to wipe an entire life from your friend’s mind,” Thor cut in as reassuringly as he could. “There are ways to make magical alterations permanent, but it requires more power than I believe Loki has.”

“What do you mean, permanent?” Sam asked, frowning. “You think the current spell is not permanent?”

“A long-term enchantment, such as the one of which we are speaking, would require an enormous amount of energy to sustain, else it would wear off eventually. Certainly sooner than the many months the prince has been missing,” Thor tried to clarify. “Such spells are usually cast by the power of the sun, so that they falter or even fail at night, depending on the magnitude of the enchantment, before resuming at sunrise. If the man in this castle is indeed an impostor, he will have to have some sort of power source available, or else the spell is dropping and recharging at nighttime.”

Sam gave him an arch look. “So we could sneak into his room and catch him with the disguise down?”

“Only if the spell is not maintained by some alternative power source,” Thor corrected him.

“What sort of power source do you mean? What kind of power would overcome the spell’s failure?” Natasha asked, staring intently at Thor.

He shifted uncomfortably. “This is not my area of expertise, and I am afraid I cannot give you all the answers you seek. My knowledge is limited. Still… blood magic would work in this capacity, as an example. It would, however, require the willing participation of the spell’s subject.”

Sam scrubbed his hands over his face, looking like he wished he did not have to share the deduction he made. “That would explain why Tony was gone for so long. If Loki wanted to make whatever enchantment he was working on permanent, he would have been waiting for Tony to break.”

Steve flinched, and Sam reached across the table to touch his clenched fist apologetically.

“It’s worse than that,” Pepper muttered. She lifted her head to look at Natasha. “In order to have planted someone disguised as Tony in that abandoned castle at the exact time you were going to be there…”

“… Someone must have told Loki we were coming,” Natasha finished with a faint snarl in her voice. “Only a handful of people knew of our destination, and it took us less than a day to reach it. Which means there is a traitor in my household.”

After a moment of silence, Thor banged his mug angrily on the table, making all their dishes jump. “My brother will pay for this, I assure you,” he snapped. “Magic should never be used for such ends. Your prince may very well be in disguise, or under another enchantment, but he might also be restrained by non-magical means. I cannot tell you, forgive me. Please, Princess,” He looked imploringly at Natasha, then turned to look at Steve. “Sir Steven, accept my sincerest apologies for the role I and my kingdom have played in this terrible event.”

“Hey,” Clint said suddenly, in an inappropriately energetic voice. Everyone’s attention zeroed in on him. “You said that… if Tony’s enchanted, it would wear off at night, right? So, if we were there during the day, the spell would be working, right? So if Tony was _not_ there why bother planting someone to throw us off the trail? I mean, maybe the impostor was the plan all along, but why wait almost seven months when we’ve been looking for him all that time? Why now?”

Steve sucked in a breath. “Why not just let us search the castle and not find him?”

“Right,” Clint nodded. “You wouldn’t need to throw us off—”

“—Unless we would have found him if there had there not been a double chained up in the cells,” Natasha finished, her green eyes widening.

“Which means Tony must have been there,” Sam said, horrified. “He was there at the castle while we were there.”

“But where?” Pepper asked, glaring at them all. “You said the castle was a wreck, and you searched it from top to bottom.”

Clint slammed both his palms down on the table, hard enough to rattle the cutlery. “Thor. Could you disguise a person as something not a person, you know, with magic?”

Giving him a curious frown, Thor eventually nodded. “Yes, that is possible. But very difficult, unless you have sufficient expertise. Which,” he admitted after a moment. “My brother may very well possess.”

“Could you disguise someone,” Clint continued, his eyes sparking with disbelief at the words coming out of his own mouth. “As an animal?” 

Steve choked.

“As, for example, a ridiculously cranky swan?”

 

## ✯

 

Though some members of the group were adamant that the Tony impostor be thrown immediately into a prison cell, pending interrogation (and the most creative punishments they could come up with between them), Natasha reminded them all that not only was the impostor working within her castle, but an unknown traitor was there somewhere as well. There would be no point in letting said traitor know that they suspected anything until Tony was safely in their hands once more.

So despite their misgivings, the impostor was left alone for the time being.

Part of that, however, was because after Clint’s final words had hung in the air for a little while (and Steve started to breathe again), Natasha and the others had demanded an explanation for the bizarre question. Clint appraised them of his highly embarrassing run-in with a tenacious swan on his way out of the castle, which made Sam frown at him.

“Tony wouldn’t have given up just because you yelled at him to go away,” he pointed out. “That’s kind of Tony’s specialty.”

Clint flushed. “I may also have aimed an arrow at his head.”

This caused Natasha to reach right over Sam to smack Clint on the back of his head, while Pepper stared at him incredulously. At this point, Steve was still trying to understand what was happening. That swan… the swan who had been so desperately trying to get Clint’s attention, the one Steve had hidden from around the corner and smirked at, in his triumph and joy at finding – at _believing_ they had found Tony alive and well, the swan he had—even at the time—noted seemed oddly upset with Clint… that swan might have _been Tony_?

It took hardly any discussion for things to start moving from that point. Pepper agreed to stick with the impostor and try, if at all possible, to determine whether or not he was in contact with the traitor in Natasha’s castle. Sam and Clint elected to stay with her and do their best to calm any suspicion, as well as seek out the traitor if they could.

The next day the others announced a hunting trip, and though Steve was desperate to take off as soon as possible, he knew it would only raise questions and more danger for all of them if they let anyone know they thought something was amiss. So that afternoon they took off into the forest as casually as they could manage. The most difficult part of getting on the road with haste turned out to be getting Bucky on horseback in the first place, after he had missed the entire conversation over dinner the night before, and the resultant series of revelations. Through a combination of Steve’s manhandling and Natasha’s cajoling, Bucky was extracted from his room soon enough, and by sundown they were flying down the roads back to the abandoned castle, in the desperate hope that they would not be too late.

That if Tony had been there before, he would still be there now, as the traitor and whoever else was in on his disappearance believed they were safe, with their impostor firmly in place.

Half the trip was spent breathlessly explaining to Bucky what was going on, and trying to break through his disbelief that the Tony currently in the castle was not the real Tony. That Bucky had no reason as of yet to believe Tony blamed him in any way, shape, or form for how their last trip had ended. As soon as he understood the magnitude of what had happened, somewhere between Kingstown and the Great River, Bucky went from morose to _furious_ and urged his stallion on ever faster in front of the rest of them.

They arrived at the old castle early the next evening, after just a few brief stops to allow the horses a rest and for them to eat a small meal or two. They rode right up to the edifice this time, perhaps foolishly, but even Natasha’s protests fell short compared to the desperation to find their friend.

“Tony!” Steve bellowed as soon as they were within visual range of the castle. “Tony!”

Swans milled around the meadow and the banks of the enormous lake, and Steve leaped from his horse quickly to start practically accosting each and every one of the swans he saw, searching for signs of intelligence. The others were a little more inclined to believe that was unnecessary, since Tony had clearly recognized Clint the first time around, but did not bother to voice this opinion. Quite a ruckus was kicked up amongst the birds as Steve drew closer and closer to the lake, staring into the beady eyes of as many as he could find.

The cacophony of honking, hissing, and the quacking of many distressed ducks drowned out the sound of one particular swan, which honked in utter disbelief when it saw them standing around the perimeter of the lake.

“They all look the same!” Steve snarled in frustration, leaping back from the angry pecking of another swan he’d gotten far too close to. “How are we supp—”

“Steve,” Bucky said abruptly. “Look.” Despite how keyed up he was, Steve did so immediately – looking to Bucky and then following his gaze out to the middle of the lake, where one lone swan was floating and staring directly at them.

It was just a swan, just like all the others. It was white, with an orange bill and black masked markings on its face. It was not the largest swan on the lake, nor the smallest. There was nothing noteworthy about it except for the fact that it was staring at them like that.

Steve took a few steps closer to the lapping water of the lake, staring out at the swan in a sort of terrible hope. “Tony?” he said softly, knowing the bird couldn’t possibly hear him from that distance.

After a moment of stillness, the swan let out a loud shriek and its large wings puffed up behind it. Steve could hardly stop himself from yelling Tony’s name once more, at which the bird’s wings extended fully and began flapping frantically. It shrieked at him again, craning its head around to where the sun was dipping below the trees.

“ _Tony_ ,” Steve called in disbelief, falling forwards into a run.

But before he got to the water, an enormous arm wrapped firmly around his waist and spun him back away from the lake. “Steve,” Thor’s voice rumbled.

“Let go!” he barked, twisting in Thor’s grip to find the swan again. It was drifting closer to them now, silent, but still flapping its wings and bobbing its long neck back and forth anxiously. “Let _go_!”

“Steve,” Thor repeated, not relenting in the slightest. “Forgive me, my friend, but I do not think it wise to go out onto the lake. My brother may have enchanted it in some way, set up a trap of some sort. We must wait, we must wait and see what the bird does. We cannot even be certain that it is your friend.”

“Come on, Steve,” Bucky chimed in, though Steve had stopped struggling. “What were you going to do – swim out there and dive-tackle it?”

Steve huffed at him, but swatted reluctantly at Thor’s arm until he was released. “I can’t just _stand here_ —”

“Look at him,” Natasha’s calm voice interrupted. “He’s watching the sun set.”

The three of them turned to look at the bird, which was now close enough that they could see the dregs of the sunlight glimmer in its eyes, and Natasha was right – the swan was alternately looking between the four people on the shore and the rapidly descending orb of the sun. The looks were getting faster and faster as the sun started to disappear fully below the horizon. It felt as though none of them had moved for hours, and Steve was not certain how long it was before the light disappeared completely behind the trees.

Then something strange happened. At first, Steve thought the sun was rising again. There was an odd glow emanating from the same direction, but after a moment of confusion he realized that the glow was coming from the _lake_. Bucky darted forward and grabbed Steve’s elbow in a painful grip, as all four of them watched a golden light diffuse out from where the swan was floating on the water. The swan had stopped fluttering its wings, and was peering at the glow beneath its body as if judging it for something.

Feeling like his heart was going to beat right through his ribs, Steve took another involuntary step forward as the swan looked up – looked right at him.

And then the bird dove beneath the surface of the water. The glow followed, blocking out every glimpse of where the swan’s body touched the water of the lake. So all they could see was a rapidly expanding light dipping below the waterline, where it stayed and churned beneath the surface of the lake for several agonizing moments.

Then, just as soon as it had appeared, the glow was gone. The change was so abrupt that Steve barely had time to adjust to the darkness of twilight before a dark shape crested from where the swan had disappeared moments before.

Steve thought his legs might collapse. Bucky breathed out a heartfelt curse beside him, but they were all frozen in place.

It was Tony. Drenched, streaming water from his long, grown-out hair and sodden shirt, but it was Tony. He stood thigh-deep in the lake, staring at them as they gaped back at him, and then he was moving.

Bucky’s hand on his arm and Thor’s sudden grip of his jacket were the only things that stopped Steve from breaking into a flat-out sprint forward. Tony staggered through the water until his bare feet touched the shore, and then Steve refused to be held back any longer. He lashed out at Thor’s chest and shoved Bucky back away from him, but they let him go easily and he tumbled forward the last few strides until he and Tony slammed into each other gracelessly.

“Steve,” Tony said in a shattered voice, gripping Steve’s arms. “ _Steve_ , you’re – you’re _here_ … I didn’t think—”

With trembling hands, Steve grabbed Tony’s shoulders, his fingers digging into the soaking wet fabric of his shirt and grabbing it in two shaking fistfuls. “It’s really you,” he managed. His hands leapt up to grab Tony’s face, shamelessly staring, desperately roving over every detail of the man before him: from Tony’s messy beard to his sleepless, disbelieving eyes; chapped and cracked lips; his dark hair plastered back over the crown of his head. His thumb touched the stubborn jut of Tony’s chin, hidden beneath the thick, unkempt beard, then darted up to press against his lower lip.

Tony kissed the pad of his thumb without a moment’s hesitation, before reaching up to grab Steve’s wrist and pull his hand forward to press another warm, firm kiss to the center of his palm.

Steve couldn’t stand it a second longer. He didn’t care that they had an audience, could not care one bit about what Prince Thor might think. He grabbed the back of Tony’s neck with both hands and pulled the other man into a kiss with a decade of love and longing in it, and half a year of frantic worry that he might never get the chance again. He was only distantly aware of Tony’s arms wrapping around his back and pressing their chests in tightly together – too focused on the feel of Tony’s mouth beneath him, the rough scrape of his beard, the silkiness of his wet hair tangled in Steve’s fingers.

They broke apart only the barest space, both pulling in desperate breaths. Steve held Tony’s forehead to his own far too tightly, pressing their brows together and fighting tears he could feel in the corners of his eyes. “Tony,” he said, hardly recognizing his own voice. “I’m so sorry, Tony, I’m so sorry.”

Tony’s hands bunched in the fabric of Steve’s jacket, his grip painfully tight and perfect. “Not your fault, _Steve_ , you came back.”

“Tony?” came a tentative voice from behind them, and Steve loosened his death-grip on Tony’s nape enough for Tony to peer over his shoulder.

“Nat,” Tony said in a choked voice. 

Steve retained just enough presence of mind to press another kiss against Tony’s temple, lingering for longer than he had intended, before releasing Tony and letting him be dragged into Natasha’s arms. Neither of them said a word, just standing there with Natasha’s face pressed into the crook of Tony’s shoulder, while he buried his nose in her her hair and unashamedly clung to her just as tightly as she did to him. Steve felt bereft instantly at the loss, and Thor stepped in close to put a hand on Steve’s shoulder, as if he could feel Steve’s distress at letting Tony out of his arms.

After a long moment of silence, Natasha pulled back and grabbed Tony’s face between her hands. She stared at him for a moment, then leaned in and pressed a kiss to his lips, the tip of his nose, then tilted his head down to kiss his forehead. “We are taking you home,” she murmured.

Tony went tense in her arms, and they all sprung to attention in response. “You can’t,” Tony told her, and Steve’s stomach dropped.

“Why not?” Natasha hissed. “What has that traitor done to you?”

Tony gestured back at the lake and raised his eyebrows. “Are you really…?”

She slapped his shoulder. “We can break the spell just as easily at home as we can here.”

But Tony shook his head. He stayed still for a second, then reached up to grab a piece of her hair that had escaped its braid, smoothing the copper lock slowly between his fingers before tucking it securely behind her ear. “He’s set up a perimeter of some kind – if I set foot outside it I turn back into a swan, no matter where the sun is.”

“We can take you home as a swan,” she countered. “We just have to get you back. We have Loki’s notes. We can solve this. The wedding is in two days, and I don’t have any objections to marrying you even in a swan’s body, just as long as it’s really you.”

“Two days?” Tony echoed in disbelief. “Who were you going to marry?”

She scowled, but before she could even open her mouth to answer, Thor stepped in. “Loki has enchanted another man to possess your appearance. We brought this impostor back the first time we came to this place, and he has been living as you for several weeks.”

Tony blinked at him. “Who are you?”

Thor drew up regally. “I am Thor, son of Odin—”

“—Crown prince of Asgard,” Tony finished, looking him up and down. “Your brother has little good to speak of you.” He met Thor’s eye. “Which makes you one of my new favorite people, really.”

“I am fortunate my treacherous brother has not soured your opinion of me,” Thor grinned wanly, at which Tony merely snorted. “It is an honor to meet you, Prince Tony. Your friends speak highly of you.”

Tony fidgeted, and Natasha sunk her fingertips more viciously into his shoulders in warning. “Come back with us,” she said, somewhere between a plea and a command.

But to Steve’s dismay, he shook his head. “It’s not just the transformation, Nat – it’s… the change is—”

An involuntary noise escaped Steve’s throat when he realized what Tony was trying to say. “It’s painful. The change is painful unless you’re in the water.” That was why Tony had stayed on the lake long after he'd seen them approach, waiting for the sun to set before he stepped foot on land.

Tony half-turned to give him a grave look. “‘Painful’ is one word for it.” Then he jolted, and his gaze sharpened over Steve’s shoulder, to where Bucky had soundlessly retreated to give them space as Tony had sprinted out of the lake. Tony’s eyes went wide and a look of shattering hope spread over his face. “Bucky?” He blinked. “Bucky – you’re alive!”

They all had only a brief moment to process the words before Tony had vanished from Natasha’s arms and shot across the grass to grab Bucky in a desperate embrace. “He told me you—” Tony cut himself off, hugging Bucky tighter as the other man blinked down at him in both shock and tentative hope. As the moments went on, and Tony showed no signs of leaving, Bucky’s arm came up to wrap around Tony’s shoulders, and he allowed his head to drop down and press against Tony’s damp hair.

“I’m so sorry,” Bucky whispered. “Tony, I’m so sorry, I failed you.”

“Nah,” Tony barked eloquently, pulling back and holding Bucky at arm’s length to glare reprovingly at him. “I don’t know how you think this is your fault, but it’s not. You had nothing to do with it, I—”

That was the exact moment Tony realized that he was holding Bucky by the upper arm on one side, and the side of his chest on the other. His gaze dropped from Bucky’s face to his shoulder, and even in the dying light of the evening, he visibly went white. Bucky pressed his lips together, looking down at the ground, and the others just waited in a tense, uncomfortable silence. After some contemplation of the stump of Bucky’s left arm, concealed beneath the pinned sleeve of his jerkin, Tony reached up and put his hands on Bucky’s shoulders, his thumbs digging into his collarbones.

“I’m going to make you a new one,” he promised, giving Bucky a little shake. “The best damn arm you’ve ever seen. Built-in armor, perhaps a small crossbow mechanism. Maybe a hidden compartment for a dagger or two, or snacks—”

Bucky’s mouth slowly broke into a grin as Tony rambled, and Steve realized it was the first real smile he’d seen on his friend’s face since he’d woken up after the accident. “I don’t know about a crossbow, but I’ll take as many daggers as you can squeeze in.”

 

 

Tony beamed up at him, reaching up to tug his fingers through Bucky’s hair. “You’ve gotten as shaggy as me,” he noted. “Looks better on you, I imagine.”

Bucky snorted at him, then pulled him in abruptly so he could press his mouth to Tony’s cheek with affection and relief. “It’s… so good to see you, Tony. I was afraid I never would again.”

Leaning into the touch, Tony swallowed and his eyes dropped to the ground. “Well, I’m difficult to get rid of, apparently.”

“Thank the stars for that,” Bucky retorted gruffly before pulling back and looking up at Steve. “If he can’t leave the lake, we’re going to have to rethink our strategy.”

“Loki wants Nat’s kingdom,” Tony pointed out, turning in place to stand beside Bucky, facing the other three. “Very predictable. The fake me is unexpected, I’ll admit – I don’t think that was his plan to begin with.”

“What did he ask of you?” Thor demanded, folding his arms.

Tony’s mouth twisted. “He wanted my blood—more than he got from doing his best to break my nose once a week, I might add—but he wanted me to give it willingly.”

Thor shook his head. “I feared as much. I am afraid I do not know what he planned to do with blood magic, as there are far too many possibilities. My mother told me that blood taken by force is powerful in a spell, but that magic done with blood given freely can be almost unlimited. Intent is paramount – taking blood from a blow would allow him to use it for a longer time than if he extracted it from you with ill intent, for instance. Loki may very well have been able to alter your mind, or even his own appearance, if you had permitted him to take even a small amount of blood freely.”

“Whoever he has enchanted to look like Tony,” Natasha cut in. “Is likely then a reserve plan, should Tony refuse to give the blood freely. Were we to marry, I was probably not intended to survive long after the wedding. Loki clearly believes the impostor is firmly under his control.”

“ _Is_ the impostor loyal to Loki?” Bucky mused distantly.

“Why use someone else at all?” Steve asked, inching closer to Tony and Bucky as surreptitiously as he could manage. “Why not just make himself look like Tony, if he already can?”

“Because he cannot,” Thor replied wryly. “Loki is a sorcerer – their natural magical ability makes it difficult for them to cast certain spells on themselves. I would imagine this is one of them.”

“How inconvenient,” Tony grimaced. “So he used my nosebleed to turn some schmuck into his insurance policy, and, what, planned to wait me out forever to make himself look like me?”

Thor shook his head somewhat despairingly. “Loki’s mind is far afield. I cannot guess at his plans. But he is now imprisoned in Asgard once more, without the considerations provided to him before as a prince. He shall not escape again.”

“That also means he will not be able to break the spell before the wedding,” Natasha pointed out sternly, before turning to look a little apologetically at Tony. “We were hoping there would be a clue in his notes, but none of them whatsoever seem to be regarding this swan spell on you, nor the one on the impostor. Then there is the matter of the traitor in my household,” she added in a snarl.

Tony and Bucky turned sharply to look at her. “The what?” Tony asked in surprise.

She explained succinctly how they deduced that someone had warned Loki of their arrival, and Bucky’s face turned thunderous. “Who would dare?” he snapped.

“I don’t know,” she replied in frustration. “But I imagine they would not be happy to learn that we have found you, Tony.”

“Whoever it is,” Steve said, having finally reached Tony’s side in his clandestine shuffle. “We have to assume they intend to carry out Loki’s scheme even with him gone.”

“I agree,” said Thor gravely. “We should keep as much secrecy as we can muster.”

A small, wicked smile began to wind its way onto Natasha’s face, and Steve suspected it had nothing to do with the fact that he had wound his fingers in with Tony’s at their sides, which made Tony dart him a pleased, knowing look.

“We could simply arrange for the impostor to be… waylaid,” she said sweetly, with what was a very concerning sort of charm even when Steve knew it wasn’t directed at him. “While we sneak Tony into the castle and into the wedding.”

“That would still require me to be, you know,” Tony gestured at himself. “Not feathered. Which won't happen if I'm not on the lake at sundown. And people might notice something amiss if I waddle down the aisle with a beak.”

“You don’t say,” Bucky muttered, making Tony shove him with his shoulder.

“I have a solution for that, though it is only temporary,” Thor said with a grin. He reached up and into his thick leather coat, pulling open the burgundy collar and fishing out the gold chain hidden beneath his shirts. “This was given to me by my mother,” he explained as he lifted the chain over his neck. “It guards the wearer against enchantments. Loki has one like it, though,” he grimaced. “I suspect he has re-enchanted it and altered its purpose somewhat.”

The others looked incredulously down at the chain and pendant Thor allowed to spool like liquid gold in his palm.

Natasha was the first to crack. “You might have mentioned such a thing earlier,” she groused.

“I am afraid it is not an ideal solution,” Thor admitted, peering down at the pendant. “It is intended to defend against enchantments being cast on the wearer – but in your case, Prince Tony, the enchantment has already been cast.”

“So it won’t work?” Steve asked, tightening his grip on Tony’s hand.

Thor shook his head, then offered the necklace cupped in his hand to Tony. “It will quell the enchantment, but at a greater cost. Since the spell has already been cast, the amulet will not be able to protect against it, and it cannot undo the spell. But it will overpower the outward effects so long as it is worn.”

Tony considered this, then reached out and took the amulet from Thor’s palm, inspecting the pendant hanging down from the robust chain as best he could in the low light, and with Steve refusing to release his other hand. “What’s the catch?”

Thor’s lips quirked. “The amulet itself is enchanted, so it requires an energy source. This one uses the living blood of the wearer, which means that the longer it is worn, the more energy it will drain from you as it fights the spell. Its use must be sparing.”

Tony sighed, but nodded. “I can work with that. So, what, I show up at the castle two nights from now, slip this on, and just walk into the great hall? Seems… worryingly simple.”

“Not every plan need be brilliant, Tony,” Natasha scolded fondly. “I will arrange for someone to meet you at the storeroom entrance with appropriate clothing, say at eight hours past noon? That gives almost no time for anyone to notice anything amiss and interfere.”

The others talked for a little while longer, but Steve only listened with half an ear. He turned Tony gently in his hold and then wrapped his arms securely around his waist, burying his face in Tony’s hair or the crook of his neck, feeling his heart beating and feeling Tony’s hands come up to grip his forearms.

He had found Tony, his Tony. He was alive. He was safe. The nightmare of uncertainty was finally over.

 

## ♕

 

The next day the four of them arrived back at the castle a little before the noon meal, not wanting their absence to raise any suspicions the day before the wedding was to take place. It had taken some concerted effort and logic to pry Steve from Tony’s side, but in the end he had had to acknowledge that he would only be putting Tony and their plan in peril were he to remain behind.

Pepper, Sam, and Clint were caught up with the scheme, and after that it became little more than a waiting game. Even having hardly left the impostor’s side for several days, Pepper did not know who Natasha’s traitor might be, unless it was Lord Fury himself. After all, the false Tony barely socialized with anyone but Fury and a few high-ranking representatives from his own kingdom. Preparations for the wedding were proceeding without a hitch, and the great hall had been filled with pews and stands ready to be filled with decorative flowers the next day.

The day of the wedding dawned unseasonably cold but otherwise unremarkable. As was tradition for the royal family, the ceremony was not to take place until after the sun had set, which left them with many long hours to spend in preparation and worry. Steve eventually had to be sent down to the kitchens to help with preparations for the feast, because his restlessness was not only beginning to grate on the others’ nerves, but threatened to give away that they knew something was wrong.

The previous night, Pepper had spoken with the most longstanding member of Tony’s household, and without telling him too much about the actual magic and treachery involved, Pepper convinced Lord Stane to keep his prince occupied until after the wedding had started. They did not want to risk the impostor causing a fuss, and Lord Stane’s authority should help enforce the delay without them needing to resort to violence. And Pepper disguised the odd request with concerns about another attack on the prince at the wedding, saying that someone would be there to escort ‘Tony’ to the hall as soon as they were certain it was safe. Lord Stane agreed wholeheartedly, clearly concerned but willing to do what was necessary.

Now they had only to wait until night fell.

 

## ♛

 

By the time Tony arrived at the storeroom door, the chilly day had morphed into a cold evening, with a wind picking up that he’d had to fight almost the entire way from his lake. He was exhausted, and probably late, though he had no way of telling the time. He only hoped that whichever of his friends was supposed to meet him here was still waiting.

The amulet was heavy around his neck, but still felt lighter than the great burden it had been looped around his leg while flying. To his gratification, the transformation from swan to human was almost entirely painless with the amulet’s power at work. Perhaps because the change was not part of the spell – merely the absence of it. Either way, Tony hated the inconsistencies and constantly illogical nature of magic, so he did not think on it too much.

He still wore his shabby shirt and trousers from the night of his capture, but the person meeting him in the storeroom—whoever could get away from the festivities the most subtly—was to bring a suitable outfit for him to wear. He looked forward to the idea of clean, fresh clothes almost as much as he did to the idea of a warm, freshly cooked meal. His hair was long and tangled around the strip of leather he’d been using to tie it back, and he hoped briefly that his friend had brought a comb. It might be too much to hope for some tools to groom his beard.

He knocked quietly on the door, knowing it would sound louder inside than it did in the howling wind outside. After a few moments went by with no response, he knocked a little louder, curling his body in tighter to the door frame to escape the wind. This time he heard the definitive clack of someone unlatching the door from inside.

“Tony!” Obadiah greeted him, grinning widely as he swung the door open. “Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes? Come inside, come on.” He ushered a grateful Tony into the room, securely shutting and latching the door behind him.

“It’s good to see you, Obie,” Tony admitted with a half-smile. The man had never been his favorite person, but if nothing else he had always been loyal to Howard – a loyalty that had preceded Tony’s birth and outlasted his father’s death, it seemed. “Thank you for taking care of the kingdom. I know it must have been a shock.”

“Ah, my boy,” Obadiah smirked, clapping one large hand on Tony’s shoulder. “It was my pleasure. Now, what is this?” His fingers gripped the chain of the amulet at the back of Tony’s neck, tugging on the heavy pendant so the top of it rounded his open collar.

“It’s what’s keeping me upright,” Tony joked, not sure how much the others had told him and not willing to waste time explaining everything right now. “I hope you brought a change of clothes,” he said, shaking Obadiah’s hand away and looking around the small, dim storeroom. “I doubt Lady Hill would allow me to live very long if I tried to marry her princess wearing this.”

“Ah,” Obadiah said slowly, thoughtfully. “I don’t think that will be a problem.”

He moved suddenly, and Tony barely had time to turn his head before Obadiah’s fist connected with the center of his chest. But no – not just his fist. He held something in his hand. Tony’s chest hurt with a sharp, stinging pain that did not feel at all like a punch, and he began to sway. Obadiah brought up his other arm to brace against Tony’s back, balancing him between it and the hand he kept pressed against his breastbone. After a moment of dazed confusion, he realized that Obadiah was lowering him to the ground, supporting his weight as he went down. Tony was too dazed to fight him.

Once Tony was lying on his back, splayed haphazardly over the flagstones, Obadiah removed the hand he’d been pressing against Tony’s chest, which revealed a small dagger enveloped by Tony’s body up to the hilt. He gaped at it for a moment, and his hand came up instinctively to pull it out of his chest.

“No, no, my boy,” Obadiah scolded almost kindly, batting Tony’s hand away. “I wouldn’t do that. If you take that dagger out you’ll have nothing plugging the hole it’s made in your heart.”

He grinned down at Tony from where he was kneeling beside him, and there was no trace of the loyal family friend Tony had known in that smirking face. His eyes were cold, his smile chilling, and the realization of what was happening began to make its way through the cloud of pain in Tony’s mind.

“You’re behind this?” he choked out, staring up at the stone ceiling. “I don’t… I—”

“No, Tony, no,” Obadiah said soothingly, and he started rummaging through a small pack he must have dropped earlier at Tony’s side. “I didn’t plan this. This is… plan number three, shall we say? I’m adaptable, after all, and who am I to let someone else’s plot to kill you go unused? I’ll admit,” he turned back to Tony with something in his hands, just out of Tony’s line of sight, and began fussing with Tony’s sleeve, clumsily rolling it up past his forearm. “This is more complicated than I really wanted. If those pirates had just killed you like they were supposed to… ah well. Then I had to wait for things to settle down, and even now it’s easier if you just appear to be an unlucky prince with foreign enemies. Otherwise your successor would have to answer so many _questions_ …” He shook his head ruefully.

Then, with scarcely a pause, he brushed something against Tony’s inner elbow. The bright pain it caused told him that it was a sharp blade, and his stomach dropped when he realized what the plan was.

“The spell won’t last long if you take my blood unwillingly,” Tony hissed up at Obadiah, gritting his teeth so as not to cry out. By design, they had chosen a room where nobody would be able to hear what was going on inside – and even if he did manage to bring someone running to his aid, he didn’t know what Obadiah would do to them if they came. He was alone in this.

“Oh, I know,” Obadiah replied absently, squeezing curiously at Tony’s bicep. “I have that vile sorcerer’s notes on that little spell of his. Yours as well, my boy. I must admit I’m curious. I’d imagine it to be excruciatingly painful, turning into a bird and back every day… that, of course, is why I know there is no point in asking for a voluntary donation. You’re as pig-headed as your father was – ah, it’s a shame you didn’t die with him in that crash. Wouldn’t that have just been so much easier?”

With a reassuring tap on Tony’s shoulder, he reached into Tony’s shirt and pulled out the amulet, admiring its craftsmanship for a little while before lifting Tony’s arm to hover over his own chest. Tony tried to fight, but the blood loss not only from his elbow but also what was almost certainly leaking from the wound in his chest was leaving his head feathery and his limbs weak.

Blood dripped from his sliced-open elbow onto the face of the amulet under Obadiah’s keen gaze. Tony did not know how long the pause lasted before Obadiah was apparently satisfied with what he had extracted. He smirked at Tony, dropped his arm heavy on his stomach, and unceremoniously pulled the amulet up and over Tony’s head.

It was not the worst transformation he had suffered by far, largely because he fainted from the stress long before it was over. When he awoke, the pain was still radiating like it did when he was too far from the lake, and he realized there was likely nothing he could do to take away that pain here.

He was a swan once more, lying on his side. To his surprise, the dagger was still firmly lodged in his chest, surrounded by blood from where the shift must have dragged its blade against the surrounding flesh. Tony scarcely wanted to think what that had done to his innards, and—with black creeping into his vision that would not vanish, no matter how much he blinked—he realized that his chances of making it through this might not even be worth thinking about.

Obadiah, he realized, was talking as he crouched at Tony’s side. “—nked directly to the blood of the wearer, according to those notes I stole, else I’d have simply worn the amulet Hammer has.”

Tony made a noise of distress, which Obadiah clearly took to be a question.

“Your replacement,” he clarified, petting the long stretch of Tony’s neck. “Seventh son of Lord Hammer, one of your princess’s barons. A pathetic, power-hungry little man. He has his uses though – when I stage your death a few months from now I’ll be able to use him again. Until then, of course, he’ll be in the lowest bowels of the castle in Menahahte. As soon as we’re on home shores I’ll take over the role of newlywed prince, wait for things to calm a little before abdicating. You know, I served your father for over twenty years, and when he died he left me nothing? I quite like you, Tony; it’s a shame it’s come to this. And a shame that you involved Pepper…” he sighed. “I would have preferred that she lived.”

Tony hissed at him, despite the pain it caused. _Don’t you dare touch Pepper!_ he wanted to shout, but all he could do was make a vague grunting sound.

Obadiah grinned. “Always liked you better when you weren’t talking. But here it is – you’re finally of use to me. Even your dear _Steven_ ,” he spat the name. “Failed you. Did he tell you he made a vow of everlasting love to Hammer? That should have cemented the body transformation spell, according to that sorcerer’s notes. Magic,” he scoffed. “It didn’t work, of course. I guess the sorcerer didn’t care to mention that intent was as important as the words themselves. He meant it for you. Well, it was a nice thought.”

He stroked a hand along Tony’s splayed wing. “You could have had a lovely life together as disgusting perversions of nature, if only you had been something other than a prince…” Obadiah paused for a moment, then pinched one of Tony’s secondary feathers between his fingers and yanked it sharply out of the flesh. The pain scarcely registered through the rest of the agony and horror overshadowing Tony’s mind, but he flinched nonetheless. Obadiah twirled the feather between his fingers, then stroked it down Tony’s bill. “I’ll give him this, shall I? A token of your final failure. After Hammer’s unfortunate death, of course, when I can ascend unchallenged to the throne. I would love to see the look on your dear knight’s face when he realizes just how long you’ve been dead.”

Obadiah settled a little more on his hip, tilting his head at Tony. “The wedding has probably already started, and Hammer will be there to throw off your friends. Apart from that one – the archer? He’s unconscious in your chamber, bumbled in at the wrong time, I’m afraid. Now,” he tapped the feather on Tony’s head once more. “Shall I snap your neck, or just leave you here to bleed to death?” He looked up and down Tony’s body, then smirked and returned his gaze to Tony’s black eyes, glaring coldly down. “You’ve been a thorn in my side for over a decade, you little cuss. I think I’ll leave you to die slowly.”

And with that he gathered up the bloody amulet, twisted the knife around once in Tony’s chest, obviously relishing the pained cry Tony let out, and swept out of the inner storeroom door. Tony heard the key turn in it from the other side, then looked over at the other door. It was locked but only latched – if he could only get over there—

Then what? The grinding, stinging pain of the transformation had taken up in his body like it had replaced the marrow of his bones, and then there was the knife to contend with. The great hall where the wedding was being held was a steep uphill trek from this storehouse.

He had nowhere to go.

Slowly, he lowered his head once more and pressed his soft, feathered cheek against the cold flagstones. He should have told the others goodbye when he had the chance. Should have told Steve how deeply he loved him. He had been running half a step ahead of his death for so long now, he should have known he would stumble at the last jump.

He lay there on the floor, waiting for his strength to return or for the pain to recede. But neither end came, and the wind outside just kept screaming louder and louder.

 

## ✯

 

The guests had all gathered in the great hall – not as many as one would normally see at a royal wedding such as this, but as many as could be received on the short notice Lord Fury was given. The man himself was at the side door with Natasha, ready to escort her to the awaiting priest. Tony was to be escorted by Lord Stane, as the closest thing to a father he had remaining. Pepper had assured them that Lord Stane would be keeping the impostor detained before Clint could make it up there to keep him trapped in Tony’s rooms. Clint had disappeared for that purpose about twenty minutes ago, which meant that—

Yes, there was Lord Stane in the doorway of the second side hall, the one opposite Natasha’s, giving the signal to go ahead.

Steve was seated in the front row with Bucky and Sam, with Thor on the opposite side of the aisle nearer to Tony. Because the wedding was so private and so (relatively) small, they had decided to forego the traditions of bridesmaids and groomsmen, which Steve, at least, appreciated because it meant he would have a far better view of the ceremony than if he were forced to stand at the fringes, on guard.

Tony was marrying Natasha. At some moments it felt as though Steve had made his peace with that fact, and at others it still struck him like a blow to the gut. His heart wanted the man he loved for himself, not to be shared with _anyone_ else. But his rational mind knew that would never be possible, and no matter how torn he was, reason still won out most of the time. And besides, if Tony had to marry anyone else, it should be Natasha, their dearest friend. Steve did not feel so much that he had to share Tony with Natasha, but rather that they were all already sharing each other, and for Tony and Natasha to marry made little difference to that dynamic.

He staunchly refused to think about the wedding night, pushing the thoughts back to the recesses of his mind whenever they reared their heads.

The musicians were playing Natasha’s favorite song, one that Tony had played on the harpsichord for her and Bucky to dance to many times, and Steve couldn’t help elbowing Bucky in the side with a grin. Bucky grumbled but couldn’t quite hold back a playful grin. They both perked up when, with a swell of the music, Natasha entered through her set of doors with Lord Fury at her side, and at the same time Tony entered through his with Lord Stane.

Tony looked as gorgeous as Steve remembered. Clint must have told him to shave off the beard entirely – it would certainly have looked strange to the guests were the prince to have grown a full beard and mustache in the space of an hour. He looked less gaunt and sickly than he had at the lake, perhaps after a good meal, and newly dressed in his old finery. He and Natasha had both chosen to wear red, their joint favorite color. Her dress was liberally trimmed with white lace, and her copper hair was coiled around her head beneath a short white veil. Tony’s silk shirt was red, the rest of his clothing black and tightly fitted, from the decorated leather overcoat to the fine leather boots.

Steve hardly realized he was beaming at Tony until Bucky elbowed him in return, with a bit of a laugh. They were both giddy with excitement and Sam, on Steve’s other side, was grinning from ear to ear. In the tradition of his homeland, Thor was standing and bowing to the princess as she entered, which she acknowledged with a smile and a faint nod. They owed a great deal to Thor, Steve thought, and he hoped that one day he might be able to pay the foreign prince back for his kindness and service.

As the music began to draw to a close, the lute soon becoming the only instrument singing out in the echoing room, Tony and Natasha reached the shallow platform set up before the throne dais. Lord Fury bowed deeply to his princess as Lord Stane did the same to Tony, ceremonially leaving their duty of care in the hands of the other soon-to-be spouse.

The room they were gathered in was in the center of the castle, so the only windows were the clerestory ones high on the southern wall, but at this late hour there was very little light entering through them. Instead, the cavernous room was lit by a vast number of candles, so that it was bright and warm, golden, and Steve briefly remembered flashes of kissing Tony in a room lit like this, tasting his skin and touching his body, and he flushed bright pink right there in his seat.

Tony caught his eyes at that moment, and Steve grinned at him, trying his best to impart his thoughts across the space without words. He expected Tony’s lascivious smirk – the one that made heat burn in Steve’s belly, or perhaps a wink, an answering smile.

Instead, Tony gave him a brief frown and then a weak smile, and a splinter of uncertainty lodged in Steve’s chest.

He heard hardly a word as the priest began the long, verbose ceremony. He watched the way Tony fidgeted from his feet to his dancing knees – but Tony always fidgeted with his hands. He watched Tony say the lines he had to somberly and carefully, without making a single joke or playful comment. He watched Natasha’s eyes narrow when he put his lips enthusiastically on her knuckles when told to indicate with a kiss the woman he wished to wed, when Tony had long since moved into kissing Natasha upon the cheek or, sometimes, the lips. When Natasha was asked to perform the same task, she leaned in and pressed her lips to Tony’s, and she and Steve both frowned when he froze and did not even attempt to kiss back.

This was wrong, something was wrong. He looked across the aisle at Pepper, who looked back at him strangely. She’d already told them that she had assurances from Lord Stane that the impostor would be detained long enough for Tony to change places with him, and before the ceremony Clint had gone to make certain. Surely Clint would not have failed. He would never allow the impostor in here without even attempting to warn them. Not unless… unless something had happened to him.

Steve turned slowly to Bucky, giving his friend’s face a quick glance. He was at once reassured and horrified to see that Bucky was glaring at Tony, eyes narrowed in clear suspicion. To someone who didn’t know Bucky like Steve did, the expression on his face could easily be interpreted as that of a jealous lover watching his beloved being married off to another man. But Steve knew Bucky very well indeed, and that was not a look of jealousy on his face, but one of outrage.

Someone suddenly tapped Steve’s knee, and he looked over in surprise to see Sam peering oddly at him.

“The rings,” the priest said, probably for at least the second time.

Steve swallowed and stood, straightening his blue jerkin to buy himself a moment to recover. He did not look away from Tony as he approached the dais. He could sense Natasha’s piercing stare on him, encouraging him.

Holding out one of the rings from the little pouch he had been entrusted with, he leaned in to whisper to Tony so only Natasha and the priest could overhear. “Do you have the amulet Sam gave you?”

The groom looked at him a little oddly, obviously taken aback by the question, but he nodded and flashed a small smile. “Of course I do.”

Natasha went rigid for a split second before shoving Steve back and out of her way, reaching over to her would-be husband, and grabbing the chain around his neck just visible beneath his fine shirt. With no further ado, she dragged the heavy amulet up and over his head. Steve had one quick moment to notice that it was definitely not the same amulet as the one Thor had given Tony – and then the spell it had been enchanted with broke. The entire assembly of the great hall seemed to inhale as one, before the shouts of confusion and outrage began to ring out in instant riot.

Standing where Tony had been just a moment before was a man about five years his elder, his long face punctuated by a narrow, hooked nose, thin lips parted slightly in shock, and heavy-lidded brown eyes widened in horror. Steve had no idea who he was – and he quickly realized that they had absolutely no idea where Tony was, either.

“Seal the doors!” Lord Fury roared. “Nobody leaves this room until I say so!”

“ _Justin_ ,” Natasha snarled as the hall flew into pandemonium behind them, and the man cringed. “You quivering rodent, how _dare_ you do this?”

“It wasn’t my idea!” the man—Justin—cried, trying to back away from her but finding his way blocked by the titanic form of Thor at his back. He held up his hands and turned back to Natasha as if he was planning to plead with her. “It wasn’t me! I was just the puppet! Don’t you see? I’m the fall guy!”

“Who sent you?” Pepper stormed over and demanded, in a voice that held the distinct promise of imminent pain.

Justin went white. “That magical guy, you know the one – I’m sure. Long hair, never seen the sun? Total lunatic, right, but he told me I could be king and all I had to do was—”

“Loki is imprisoned,” Thor boomed, anger radiating from him as he clapped both hands down on the man’s trembling shoulders. “He can no longer fulfill his promises to you.”

“Who betrayed us?” Natasha demanded, grabbing Justin by one of his upraised wrists and digging her fingernails into the sensitive skin there. He cringed in pain as she twisted angrily. “Who helped you, Hammer?”

“He’ll kill me!” Hammer whimpered, at which point Steve could no longer hold back a noise of anger, like a feral growl in the back of his throat.

Natasha leaned in until her nose was almost brushing their captive’s as he desperately leaned away, caught between her fierce grip and Thor’s enormous hands on his shoulders. “They might just kill you first,” she said sweetly, glancing at Steve and Bucky.

Both of them must have looked absolutely murderous indeed, because Hammer went even whiter, if possible, and closed his eyes reluctantly. “Lord Stane – it—it was Lord Stane.”

Pepper made a terrible noise of hurt and horror, falling back a step and taking Sam’s arm for support.

“Please don’t let him hurt me!” Hammer pleaded. “Oh, please, I didn’t—”

“Shut him up,” Lord Fury barked before turning on the dais, looking coldly over to where the crowd had parted around Lord Stane as if he carried the plague.

Lord Stane stood tall, his arms folded in a stately manner. “Lord Fury, please. Be reasonable. Surely you cannot believe such a ludicrous claim from this man?”

“It’s true!” Hammer whined from where Thor was doing his best to restrain him without breaking any of his bones. “I would pose as King Anthony while Stane ruled from the shadows! Don’t you see? He used me! It’s not my fault! I—”

He fell silent instantly when Natasha’s elbow caught the side of his head. He slumped in Thor’s arms, and the prince picked his limp body up only long enough to carry him off the platform and drop him on the first row pew.

“Hold him,” Fury ordered, and several guards, including a glowering Sam, darted forward to hold Stane in place while the man rolled his eyes.

“My Lord,” he said smoothly. “I have never met that madman before, and I certainly know nothing about magic. I assure you—”

“Search him for weapons,” Fury interrupted, as the castle staff did their best to safely evacuate the bewildered guests from the hall.

Stane’s skin went a little gray beneath his beard. “I am a representative of the Royal Kingdom of Menahahte, a guest here in your lands! To treat me like some sort of _common criminal_ is grounds for war, Lord Fury, do you really—”

“And shut him up as well,” Natasha added frostily, standing on the platform and staring down at Stane.

One of the guards immediately set a knife against Stane’s throat, so close that if he swallowed too hard, its blade would likely break the skin. Stane went still, even as he glared mutinously up at Natasha.

His bravado evaporated immediately when the guard carefully combing down his garments in search of a concealed knife or other such weapon stopped while patting against his coat, just at the bottom of his ribs. The guard unbuttoned the coat enough to reach inside, into an interior pocket of the garment, and drew out a fist-sized object wrapped in a dark handkerchief. Without unwrapping it, he turned to face his princess and gently, carefully lifted away the fabric so that she could see.

He revealed Thor’s amulet cupped in his palm – covered with dried blood. Nestled alongside it was a single, white feather.

Thor roared like he might actually happily tear Stane’s head from his neck, while Natasha ordered him to be arrested even through Stane’s virulent protestations. Pepper sprinted for the doors, followed hotly by Sam.

But Steve watched all of this as though from a great distance. If Stane, the traitor, had the amulet, what had he done with Tony? Tony had clearly arrived at the castle, and instead of Clint going to meet him, well, then what had Stane done to Clint? And if Stane had the amulet and one of Tony’s feathers, then Tony would have had to have transformed, without the lake to ease the pain…

“Where is Tony?” Bucky demanded, storming over and grabbing Stane’s collar so tightly it pulled white lines into the skin of his throat. “What did you do to him?”

Stane said nothing for a while, letting his head loll in Bucky’s vicious grip, before he slowly turned to look behind Bucky, to Steve. A vindictive smirk took over his face. “You’re too late anyway. If the little fool isn’t finally dead by now he soon will be.” He sneered, looking Steve up and down. “Seems a fitting end for a pair of disgusting, m—”

Bucky tightened his grip and cut off Stane’s air. The regent fell mercifully silent after a small retching noise, before he was quickly gagged. His eyes stayed on Steve, though, reveling in his hurt.

“Come on,” Natasha said hurriedly in Steve’s ear as she whipped past, grabbing his arm and dragging him along behind her.

They took the quickest route to the storeroom where Tony was supposed to have met Clint, only to find that the door had been locked.

As Natasha cursed the fact that she did not have anything with her to pick the lock, Pepper came running from the other direction, calling out that they had found Clint drugged and tied up in Tony’s room, where Sam had stayed with him. Tony had not been there. Steve kicked viciously at the door, again and again, but hardly even rattled it. He was about to run back down the hall to take the longer route around the outside of the castle – when Thor arrived with Bucky and, without even slowing down, barreled into the door shoulder-first so hard that the lock came splintering right out of the door frame. Thor grunted in pain as Steve ran past him into the room, looking desperately around.

Tony was not there, but by the look of the large, fresh bloodstains on the flagstones and the outer door swinging wildly open in the wind, he had been recently. And he was badly injured.

“Where would he go?” Steve demanded, almost willing to fly out the door himself if he only had a heading.

There was silence as everyone tried their best to figure it out. If he was hurt, he couldn’t have gone far, but would he have gone to the castle, or elsewhere?

“He doesn’t have the amulet,” Bucky pointed out grimly. “Which means he’s transformed and probably in a lot of pain – didn’t he say the water was the only thing that helped with the pain?”

“The creek,” Natasha said sharply, and Steve was out the door a second later.

 

## ♛

 

Flying was almost impossible between the deep cut on his wing and the bone-deep, pervasive agony of the curse he couldn’t escape, not to mention the blade still lodged deeply in his breast, but Tony had managed to make it down the short way to the coppice at the south end of the castle.

It looked so strange in the dark, but he had cherished memories of running through these trees with Natasha when they were very young, Bucky and Steve as they got older, and Clint and Sam when they were older still. Here he had had friends, here he had been loved. This was a place of peace and joy. This is where they had once brought his mother for a picnic, where the men had splashed foolishly in the calm waters of the creek while the ladies teased and scolded them from the grass bank.

He reached the gentle waters at something between a glide and a roll. As soon as he had reached up and opened the latch of the storeroom door with his beak, he had known there was no way he would be able to make it up the hill to the castle. Obadiah— _Obie, his other father, the man who had taught him to dance and to carve wooden models and to ignore Howard’s rages_ —had surely returned the impostor to his place, and the others had no reason to suspect him now.

He and Natasha might already be married.

It was all over… and was Tony really to die here, in this quiet, wind-sheltered clearing alone and without any way to help his friends? He wanted to fight! But, oh, how he wanted the pain to end. It was not the mortal agony of some of his other transformations, but he could feel his cursed body punishing him for straying so far from the lake. Every second the pain beat within him, so that other thoughts fell from his mind as soon as they came, like water spilling hopelessly through his trembling fingers.

He flopped gracelessly into the water of the creek, a moment of hope swelling in his feathered breast with the touch of the water – but there was no relief here. This cool water was not that to which he had been tied by a traitorous madman, and though its liquid cold was a balm against the surface pain, it did not seep and soothe deep inside him like the lake had done. He collapsed, letting his entire body sit in the slow water, resting on the smooth pebbles and gritty sand that made up the bed. Only his neck stayed outstretched, so that his head remained cushioned on the damp mud and soft grass of the waterside.

A scream wanted to make its way from his throat, one of pain and despair and frustration, but he did not have the energy. He wanted to warn the others, he wanted to see their faces one last time – he would remain a swan for the rest of his life if he had to, if only he could see them. He could be brave, like Steve, and watch the man he adored marry another, as long as he could be there at his side. But he wanted kisses and he wanted… he wanted…

The pain was getting worse the longer he stayed away from the lake, he could feel it. His thoughts were disappearing like steam. His muscles began to seize.

Soon, though, the cold water and even colder wind worked to relax him, and the pain screaming inside him burned counterpoint, somehow pushed into the background. He remembered that he wished to see the faces of the people he loved, but he slipped away without being able to remember their faces through the fog.

 

## ✯

 

It was Thor who spotted him first. Once he’d seen their destination, his long strides had eaten up those of the others. By the time the rest of them arrived seconds later in the clearing by the water, he was on his knees in the shallows of the creek, running his hands over the large bird lying still before him.

“He is alive,” Thor said, but his grim tone made it clear that it would not be true for much longer. “Do you have either of the amulets?”

Natasha brushed past a shock-frozen Steve and held out the handkerchief with Thor’s own amulet inside it. Thor immediately pulled the fabric aside and turned to dip the amulet in the water, brushing frantically at its surface with the handkerchief, digging the silk into each and every crevice as he did his best to remove all traces of blood from it.

After a few moments, Steve recovered somewhat from the sight of Tony lying there, motionless in the water, and staggered over to the bank of the creek. He collapsed to his own knees opposite Thor, slumped on the other side of the bird, and he gently brushed a knuckle along the side of Tony’s face. “Tony,” he called, emotion clogging his throat. “Please, Tony, please. Don’t do this, you can’t give up now, please.” He stroked the length of Tony’s long neck, then what he thought must be his shoulder, before running lower over his sternum – and finding something sticking out of Tony’s feathered breast. Gently, he rolled Tony sideways so that he and the others could see the hilt of a dagger sticking out of almost the dead center of his chest, just to the side of his breastbone.

“It’s a whittling knife,” Natasha said into the horrified silence. “Short blade. It probably hasn’t reached his heart. And he didn’t take it out, so he hasn’t bled out yet.”

Nobody had the heart to point out that, whether or not the knife pierced his heart, few ever recovered from being stabbed in the chest.

It was at that moment that Thor seemed satisfied with his cleaning, and promptly pulled the amulet over the swan’s neck. Tony’s body jolted immediately, and Steve lunged forward to lay a calming hand on his stomach. But as the transformation began, Thor pushed Steve’s hand away insistently.

The transformation had been obscured by water and the strange glow of the curse the first time they had seen it. They had been spared the sight of Tony’s bones cracking and splintering, rearranging themselves by dislocating and shifting beneath skin that took on a gruesome texture, as the feathers were slowly subsumed back into it. The change was mercifully quick, and soon Tony lay before them in his real body, breathing shallowly and not opening his eyes. His beard was as messy and unkempt as Steve remembered from the lake, and he took an odd sort of comfort in it. His hair was as long and ratty as it had been when they found him, and Steve began to run his fingers through it, trying to tease out the tangles for want of anything else to do as the transformation seemed to wind down.

Then, without a word, Thor grabbed the knife buried in Tony’s chest in one hand and the amulet in the other. Before anyone could protest, he had pulled the knife from between Tony’s ribs with a terrible sucking noise, and pressed the gold amulet over the wound.

Steve heard Natasha and Pepper shouting at him, but his eyes were fixed on the way Thor kept his large hand pressed over the amulet, pushing it against Tony’s flesh as he started to murmur something in a language Steve did not understand. But it was magic, he realized, when the amulet began to glow. The others fell silent, gathering close around, until the glow sunk away into Tony’s skin and Thor moved the amulet to the side – revealing a nasty-looking scar where the open wound had just been.

Steve grabbed Tony on either side of his ribs and lowered his face to press a kiss of furious relief against the knitted skin, then leaned up to curl over Tony and rest their foreheads together.

“A final gift from my mother, young Prince,” Thor said somberly, quietly: as though the words were just for Tony, and touching his fingertips to Tony’s cheek affectionately.

Pepper’s hand landed on Thor’s shoulder in breathless relief, and she pressed a quick kiss of gratitude into his hair.

“He hasn’t woken up,” Bucky pointed out into the following pause. “Whatever you did, can you do more of it?”

Steve lifted his head reluctantly as Thor looked up at Bucky with large, guilty blue eyes. “I can do no more,” he said sadly. “I have only limited healing magic; a spell that keeps a parcel of my mother’s spirit within my breast. But I cannot break this terrible curse. It is not the wound that afflicts him now, but my brother’s machinations. Forgive me, Princess, Steven,” he nodded to both of them with pleading eyes. “I have done all I can do for him.”

“There isn’t much I can do for curses either,” came another quiet voice from the back of their group, where Steve looked up to see the doctor, Bruce, standing with Sam and Clint. “But…” he drew a little nearer, and looked meaningfully at Steve. “I’ve traveled extensively, and the one thing I’ve seen that can reliably break a curse is… well, love.”

Dozens of folktales shot through Steve’s mind at the words, stories of love’s true kiss solving every ailment from melancholy to evil spells to death itself. And it may have been a little absurd, but by this point Steve was past caring. He would gladly do anything to save Tony’s life.

He made a despairing noise in the back of his throat before leaning down and pressing his mouth firmly against Tony’s, keeping as still as he could but trying to pour every loving feeling he had ever had for this man into the kiss. Every kind thought he’d ever had about Tony, every exasperated one, every time he’d ever thought he wanted to spend the rest of his life at Tony’s side, every kiss he’d wanted to give him, every word of love he’d ever wanted to speak.

When he pulled back from the kiss, he almost expected to see Tony’s honey brown eyes open and shining at him.

But they were still shut, and Tony was still.

“Well, that was…” Bruce fidgeted with the strap of his bag. “Nice. But I meant confessions of love, not kisses. Folktales don’t get everything right.”

Steve looked incredulously at Thor, who pretty much shrugged helplessly at him. “I am no expert. But it is possible that a love bond stronger than the spell bond could sever it. Spells must be verbalized too, as words created have far more power than words within our minds.”

There was a disbelieving noise from Clint’s direction, followed by a low thump and a grunt of pain – but Steve paid it no mind. He gripped Tony’s slack face between his hands, running his fingers over the man’s soft cheekbones.

“Tony, I love you. I do. I’ve loved you for years, so much it frightened me, and I’m sorry for letting it scare me away. You’re so brave, Tony, so kind and generous and I love you so much. If I could, I would marry you a hundred times, I would stay with you for the rest of my life if you wanted me. Please Tony, please don’t leave me. I love you, please.”

There was a beat of silence, of almost frantic anticipation, before Natasha dropped down beside Steve and kissed Tony’s forehead. She drew back only far enough to whisper a simple, “I love you.”

“I love you too, Tony,” Pepper said quietly, firmly. Bucky echoed her, and even Clint and Sam said something Steve could not hear over the sound of the wind.

But after all that, Tony didn’t so much as stir, and Steve’s control over himself slipped. He slid his hands under Tony’s torso and dragged the man up to cradle him against his chest, burying his face in the crook of his neck and his other hand in the thick mess of his hair. It had been a weak hope, but it had been a hope, and Steve desperately fought back tears, as the realization that this must truly be the the end of the man he believed was half of his heart began to sink in.

Of course, Tony chose that moment to mutter something completely muffled into the shoulder of Steve’s jerkin.

“Tony!” Steve yelped, pushing the man back and holding him at arm’s length to stare at him, wide-eyed.

Tony’s eyes were open, a little dazed, but they were open – and they were sparkling at Steve, dancing with joy. He was obviously still feeling weak, probably in still in great pain. He was filthy, and covered in blood, and soaking wet – and Steve should get him out of the water, and the wind, just as soon as he heard what Tony had said.

“What did you say?” he rasped, almost breathless with joy.

“I said _marry me_ , you stubborn ass, I don’t care if it’s legal or not—”

 

 

The rest was muffled again in Steve’s chest. As he curled protectively around Tony, Steve’s entire body was shaking, but whether it was with relief or ecstasy he had no idea. Tony was here. Tony was home, he was free. Natasha jumped up and plastered herself against Tony’s back, and that was apparently permission for the entire motley group to leap over and join in the embrace. Tony and Steve were trapped in the midst of them all, laughing like fools and kissing every time their mouths passed each other with all the jostling.

Eventually they broke apart, partly at the doctor’s insistence that Tony, at least, get inside and get warm. Steve insisted on carrying Tony back up to the castle, and would not hear another word about it. So he carried Tony bridal-style through the side entrance, and Bucky swept Natasha up into his arm (trusting her to keep a good grip because he was a little short-handed), and he carried her over the threshold too before setting her down and punching Clint in the shoulder for the ‘short-handed’ comment.

As they tramped up the stairwell to their rooms, Tony started to reply to the doctor’s solicitous questions from behind chattering teeth. “Yes, I’m starving. What’s to eat? Don’t want all the cooks’ work to go to waste. Fair warning: if it’s a bird, I’m going to faint.”

Steve held him closer to his chest, kissing his hair despite the frankly terrible pondy smell of it, and Tony pressed right back, not wanting to be separate from Steve any more than Steve was willing to let him go.

Everyone crowded into Tony’s rooms that night, not wanting to let him out of their sight, for the most part. He fell asleep crushed between Pepper and Steve, with Natasha against Pepper’s back and her hand resting on Tony’s hip. Everyone else bundled up on the floor on furs or pallets, a cacophony of snores erupting once they all lost consciousness – which everyone only slept through due to sheer exhaustion.

Just before he fell asleep, Tony turned his head back over his shoulder and whispered to Steve that he loved him too, and he meant it about their wedding, and Steve fell asleep with Tony bundled in his arms and an irrepressible smile on his lips.

 

## ✯

 

Tony physically recovered after a while, enough at least that he and Natasha finally— _finally_ —got married, and a few weeks later they were officially crowned the monarchs of their respective and joint kingdoms. Steve was in the front row for both ceremonies, naturally, cheering wildly and beaming with pride for his king and his queen. The day after the first wedding, they held a second ceremony – this one small, and quiet, and impossibly sweet. In front of a beaming audience of their friends, Tony said a second set of vows, then refused to let go of Steve’s hands while Steve echoed them back to him through the irrepressible smile on his face.

But that first wedding night was nothing at all like Steve had expected. After the evening ceremony, the newlyweds had been escorted to the king’s chambers and promptly left to their own devices. As it turned out, Bucky and Natasha had—allegedly—been more adult and had more conversations about the issue of post-marital bedroom activities than _none at all_ , and Bucky felt the need to scold Steve blazingly for not talking to Tony before tying himself into knots of panic about it. He promised to also go yell at Tony later, in the interest of fairness. 

This conversation was held as Bucky deftly swept aside a tapestry Steve had hardly paid any attention to before in their shared rooms, revealing a door hidden behind it. Blowing right over Steve’s indignation and surprise, Bucky opened that door, grabbed Steve by the hand, and led him down a disconcertingly dark hallway. After some twists and turns and a dark stairwell Steve discovered by tripping over it, they arrived in the antechamber of a room Steve did not recognize.

“The queen’s rooms,” Bucky informed him, and Steve just about swallowed his tongue.

He’d known there were secret passages all throughout the castle, but he’d never have guessed Natasha’s female ancestors would have been using them to… to—

He lost his train of thought when Bucky disappeared around a corner, into what turned out to be a short hallway with a closed door at the end of it.

“How do you know about these things?” Steve asked in a hushed whisper, afraid they might get caught.

“Nat showed me,” Bucky retorted far too loudly, shrugging. He grinned back at Steve as he opened the heavy door and proved it to be unlocked. “It’s always good to be prepared, Stevie.”

Steve shoved him fondly, peering around him to see that there was another door immediately behind the one Bucky had just opened, and that this one was already ajar. Behind it was another short hallway ending in a sharp turn. Bucky strode down to the turn confidently, disappearing into the room beyond, and Steve followed him curiously.

They were clearly in the king’s chambers. The décor was opulent and heavy, with rich fabrics and furnishings, the curtains drawn tightly over the window and the whole room lit only by flickering sconces and an enormous fireplace. The four-poster bed against the far wall was immense, though it appeared a little smaller since the curtains along two sides were shut, and the bed-coverings had been pulled up and set up around the perimeter in a sort of nest of coverlets and furs.

In the middle of this nest reclined Tony and Natasha, wearing very little clothing between them. Steve’s throat went dry at the sight of almost all of Natasha’s cream-colored, glowing skin before him, displayed through a robe that must have been Tony’s. It was only tentatively tied at her tiny waist and showed the entire expanse of her legs, and almost the entirety of her chest. The pink paleness of her skin was especially pronounced as she lay displayed beside Tony with his olive tan, much of which was visible as he was clad only in his cream breeches. His knees were curled up against his chest, one being used by Natasha as a backrest, and the other as his own writing surface as he scribbled in his omnipresent notebook.

Natasha cleared her throat as soon as she saw Bucky and Steve enter, and Tony froze, practically tossing his notebook and leather-wrapped charcoal onto the floor across the room.

Steve turned as red as a beet as Natasha slipped out of the bed and strode over to the two men. She gave Bucky his customary greeting kiss, and then gave the same to Steve, to his shock.

“James and I have decided,” she told him seriously, belayed only by the light of amusement in her eyes. “That my first child should never have difficulty claiming the throne, so it must be Tony’s.”

Steve knew this already – he swallowed and prepared to tell her as much, when Tony himself slid out of the nest of fabric and furs and came up alongside Natasha, standing comfortably in front of Bucky. He glanced warmly over at Steve, and grinned. “But that doesn’t mean we can’t all have fun with it.” With that, he leaned up and kissed Bucky – not the wild kiss of a passionate lover, but far more than the affectionate kiss of a friend.

The emotion that burst open in Steve at the sight of it was one he could hardly put a name to. He gaped at Tony, then at Bucky, then at Natasha, and back to Tony. His heart beat with something like lust, something like excitement, and something very much like relief.

He started nodding frantically, and had hardly gotten through his eager, “You all really want that?” when Natasha set upon him with devouring kisses, and Tony’s whoop of excitement was smothered by Bucky’s smiling mouth.

 

## ✯

 

And so the mighty kingdom was put under the rule of a mighty queen and her foreign king. Between them the land prospered, and if the king and queen ever seemed to be overly solicitous of two of their knights, well, nobody had any real complaints. The traitorous Stane and Hammer were never seen again in the light of day, and even Asgard was finally at peace. Even more startlingly, her king agreed to reopen trade with its neighboring realms for the first time in centuries. 

Tony would probably never fully recover from his ordeal, but as time passed the wound became less raw. He could be around swans or dive beneath the surface of a body of water without going into a panic, and after a while he did not feel the need to sleep with the amulet beside him, in case the spell returned while he slept. Steve eventually stopped tensing with apprehension every time Tony did something unexpected – though he never quite got over the stark reminder of how close he had come to losing Tony, in the form of the ragged, long-healed scar on his lover’s chest.

Steve, being Steve, decided that he needed to test Tony’s boundaries after a while, and see how far he had come. So one day, he returned to the ‘queen’s chambers’ he and Tony shared, proudly sporting a white tabard embroidered exquisitely on his chest with the coat of arms Natasha had designed for him all those years ago. A swan, triumphant on a field of red and white vertical stripes, beneath three silver stars displayed across the royal blue chief.

As soon as he saw it, Tony hissed royally at him, rearing back in mock-betrayal – and Steve started laughing.

Once he started he could not bring himself to stop, not even when Tony pounced on him and tried his very best to silence him with fervent, pecking kisses.

 

#  _Fin_

**Author's Note:**

> Minor warning: mistaken identity leading to a character saying things they _definitely would not say_ if they were aware of the switch.
> 
> Please send some love to my two wonderful artists! [Kakushimiko](http://kakushimiko.tumblr.com/post/153395811147/and-here-is-my-art-for-the-capiron-man-bigbang), and [fightfirewithlimes](http://fightfirewithlimes.tumblr.com) [1](http://ley--lore.deviantart.com/art/Fireplace-final-edit-643477916) & [2](http://ley--lore.deviantart.com/art/Swan-copy-646771894).
> 
> ETA: [Tumblr post for reblogs etc](http://atsadi.tumblr.com/post/153408857470/as-constant-as-a-star-atsadi-multifandom).


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